The World and I
by Laura1
Summary: It's the end of the world (again!) and Buffy must prevent it, only she's got bigger problems in the shape of Angel, Spike and Riley.
1. Fire

Introduction ~ *takes deep breath* This is a severely AU fic where I have messed around the entire 'Angel' and BtVS story arcs

_Timeline ~_ Set anytime in S5 before Riley leaves and while Angel is still reasonably in the land of the sane.

_Disclaimer ~ _Does anybody actually pay any attention to these, like, ever?

_Author's Note ~ _This is written as a series of POVs, with the name of the person whose turn it is to narrate the story given at the beginning of each section. 

_A/N 2 ~ _Anyone who is a regular reader of mine will know I am a B/A fanatical, but for this fic I've tried to explore the B/R and B/S relationships as well – just with an inherent B/A bias, which basically equals much Riley-bashing and a (hopefully) interesting plot twist involving Spike. There's also some gratuitous Willow/Tara shippery thrown in as well, because they seem to my second favourite couple at the moment. 

_ _

_ _

Chapter One 

**Willow:**

The place is full of smoke. It chokes my lungs and I try to breathe as little of it as possible in. Somewhere at the back of my mind the voice of reason is telling me to get down on the floor, to crawl on my hands and knees, because that's where the coolest air is. But panic is busy overtaking me and all I can think of is 'where are they?'. 

"Buffy!" I try to yell, but the cry turns into a coughing fit as I inhale a mouthful of smoke. My chest aches and my eyes sting, and still I stagger onwards, towards the flames rather than away from them. I don't think I've ever been this frightened in my entire life, not when the mayor turned into a giant snake at graduation and not even when I saw that look in Oz's eyes and I knew that the next thing he was going to say was that he was leaving me. Those times I was scared for myself, but now I've learned a much deeper fear – that for the people you love. 

"Tara," I gasp out in a strangled whisper. She is in here somewhere and I can't find her. I'm not leaving without her – I can't just let her die, she's my strength, my support, I don't think I could survive without her in my life. 

_ _

_"Tara!" I call more loudly this time, using reserves of strength and determination I never even knew I had to do so. I tip my head to one side, listening, as I think I hear, above the crackling and the spitting and the wild roaring of the fire, the sound of my name being cried in return. A surge of relief floods through me, its effects almost physical in the way it seems to cool the air around me and pump new energy into my tired limbs. I stumble towards the sound, ignoring the intense heat that reflects off my face and hands, burning my skin and singeing my hair without the flames even needing to touch me. _

"Tara!" I shout once again and this time the answer comes more strongly. _Willow, I'm here. It is strange, the words don't seem to reach my ears and yet I feel them in my heart. I scan the room desperately, my eyes finally locking with the familiar blue pair belonging to the woman whom I love. We are separated by a solid wall of fire, fifteen foot deep, and panic rises in me anew – how am I going to reach her, how can we possibly escape together? Tara, however reaches her hand out to me and her expression implores me to do the same. I stretch out my fingers, focusing intently on the one thought that consumes my entire mind – bringing her back to me. _

Suddenly, through some magic spell, that I didn't even realise I was casting, the flames in front of me part. I drop my arm in shock and the flames begin to edge back again. Tara wildly gestures for me to return to my previous position and I do so, this time focusing on creating a passageway through the fire. I close my eyes tightly, concentrating with all my might as Tara begins to head towards me down the gap we have created together. Seconds take hours to tick by and I am afraid to look again, afraid that my magic is not enough, that I will see her swallowed by the flames, writhing in pain, her final look accusing. _Why wasn't your love strong enough to save me?_

Then I feel soft arms encircle me and tender lips find mine. Her sweet, heady scent, of roses and spun sugar, is unmistakeable, even amidst the thick, acrid smoke. Tara. She is here. We've done it. Clinging tightly together we rush towards the door, using a combination of magic and plain brute force to smash it open then toppling out into the cool, fresh night air. Gripping her hand tightly I pull us both away from the burning warehouse, colliding with Buffy on the way out, her expression one of business-like concern. 

Doggedly continuing forwards until I can no longer feel the heat prickling my skin, I finally collapse into lush, wet grass, dragging Tara down on top of me. I roll out from underneath her, so that we lie side-by-side, my ragged breathing synchronising its rhythm with hers as I re-infuse my lungs with badly needed oxygen. I gaze up at the huge, open, endless sky above me, its vastness reminding me of my own insignificance, and I thank the Powers That Be for letting me live. For saving not only my life but also the reason I am living it.

**Buffy:**

** **

****It feels awful being in Giles' home without him there, almost like we're trespassing, like we're sneaking around behind his back. I keep expecting him to jump out and chastise me for going through his things when he's not there. For touching his books and his weapons and everything that speaks so clearly of his personality. But then I remember that he won't suddenly appear, he can't – he's lying in a hospital bed in intensive care – and I don't feel guilty anymore, just lonely. 

"I should be with Xander," Anya twitters. "He's in pain, he needs me. Good girlfriends always sit by the bedside of their dying boyfriends. I've seen it on television."

"Xander's not dying!" I snap at her. "He's suffering a few burns and some smoke inhalation. The doctors are just keeping him in hospital a couple of days for observation. He's going to be fine." I rub my temples tiredly where a headache is just starting to form. 

Anya's expression twists into a frown. "There's no need to shout. I don't have a hearing difficulty, you know."

"We know!" I bite back at her. "We know all about you and Xander and the intimate details of your sex life. Now do you think it's actually possible for you to shut up for once, so the rest of us can at least hear ourselves think?"

Anya's face falls. She stares at me for a long time, her hurt hidden by impassive eyes and yet clear nonetheless. "Fine, I'll try to be less noisy in future. Now, if my presence is upsetting you that much, I think I go and see Xander."

"Anya, wait!" I call after her, feeling bad about my harsh comments. I didn't really mean them. It's true, I guess, that I don't like Anya, but in some bizarre way she's good for Xander, and so I want her to be part of the group for his sake. I'm just stressed and upset and I seem to have lost the link between my brain and my mouth. "I'm sorry." I shout as she walks out the door, but my apology is too little too late and she is gone, further reducing the numbers of our little posse. I do a head count. Five of us in the room. Five miss-matched individuals the only people standing between the world and its total destruction. Why am I getting the horrible feeling the odds aren't exactly on our side?

"Nice one, Slayer." Spike jeers. "Way to inspire team morale."

"What are you still doing here, anyway?" I ask harshly. I can't help myself; I'm so on edge. I keep remembering Giles' ashen face as I pulled him out of the burning warehouse. He was unconscious, a large cut on his forehead dripping blood. I couldn't wake him up, I tried to, but I couldn't. And Xander was in heap on the floor, bright red and gasping for air. I wanted to tell him to stop wheezing because I couldn't hear whether Giles was breathing or not. Then the paramedics came with their grave faces and their hushed expressions and I felt utterly helpless. I'd let this happen to my friends and now there was nothing I could do to fix it. Plus, it's Spike I'm talking to here, so verbal abuse is pretty much force of habit for me.

"Well, I was going to hang around and help out." He shrugs casually. "Do my bit for humanity and that sort of thing. But if you don't want me here, then I'll leave you on your own to face the big bad demons intent on ending the world."

I just glare at him as he moves to leave and I can tell he's waiting for me to stop him, but I can't – I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Spike," it is Willow who speaks up in a slightly shaky voice. I'm worried about her; she hasn't let go of Tara's hand since it happened. Her hair is an unruly mess, where some of its ends were burnt in the fire, and there are dark black circles under her eyes. Though, thinking about it, I probably look just as bad.

"Please will you stay," she asks and if anything it makes me feel even worse about the situation. I have reduced my friends, whom I ought to be protecting, to the level of begging a soulless vampire (and one who used to be a mortal enemy at that) for help. 

Spike looks uncertainly around the room, his gaze finally fixing on me. "I want her to say it."

I look up sharply. "Forget it, Spike. Never gonna happen."

"Then I walk," he replies nonchalantly. "You want me to stay, then you're going to have to ask me to, Slayer."

I feel Riley's body tense beside me, as he jumps to my defence. He always has to play the hero and I stopped being able to tell a while ago whether it is for my benefit or his own. "Just leave Buffy alone will you," he demands, jumping to his feet in a show of macho posturing. "She's been through enough recently."

"Yeah, like nearly getting all her friends killed."

Something inside me crumbles at Spike's words, at the voicing of my all internal guilt and fear. He was right; I should have done more to protect them. I shouldn't have led them into danger like that. I should have got them out of there sooner. 

Riley hovers concernedly next to me and he awkwardly reaches out to pat my shoulder, like you'd treat puppy someone had just kicked. "It wasn't your fault," he implores, a note of desperation tingeing his voice, as if he is trying to convince himself as well as me. Or maybe that's just my imagination. 

"It was a trap," I say in a voice barely above a whisper. "I should have realised. It was just too easy." I remember the previous evening, the certainty we had felt that we'd located the demons' hideout. We had done this so many times before. Show up armed to the teeth. Kill a few demons. Stop the ritual. Apocalypse averted. Easy as pie. We even had a movie rented for the wind down session afterwards. _Die Hard – it was Xander's choice – how's that for irony? _

We arrived at the warehouse full of confidence. There weren't even any demons guarding its entrance, so we just strode straight in. All of us. Willow, Tara and Giles to perform the magic to stop the ritual to bring forth Armageddon. Me as the muscle and Riley and Xander as my back-ups. We heard the sound of chanting coming from a back room and after quickly formulating a plan I rushed in to confront the demons. And I found… a tape recorder. It took me a while to realise what was going on, before reality suddenly dawned. We had been set-up. These weren't your average mindless demons, bent on causing destruction wherever they could. They were clever, organised, they knew their enemies and how to take them out. I started yelling at people to get out quick, that we were all in danger, then the explosion happened. 

The whole warehouse burst into flames. Suddenly there was fire and smoke and heat surrounding me. I smashed a window and helped Riley out of it, going back in for Xander and then finally Giles, as Will and Tara managed to escape of their own accord. We were left broken and defeated, our wounds ranging from the superficial to the life threatening and with the police even hinting at arresting us for arson. And to make matters worse we still have the impending apocalypse hanging over our heads, and now our team is two members down, with the rest of us suffering from shock and exhaustion. I drop my head in my hands. I'm their leader now Giles is in hospital. I have to call the shots, take responsibility for the future of the whole earth and I'm, not sure if I can do it.

"I s'pose you weren't to know what was gonna happen," Spike concedes, a look almost akin to guilt on his face, as he sees how upset I am. I almost want to laugh at the sight, it is so incongruous.

"Just shut up and sit down," I tell him tiredly. He seems to accept this as an invitation to stay and does as I tell him. 

He leans back in the armchair and folds his arms across his chest. "So, when are you going to call the sodding wanker, anyway?" 

I freeze and for a second it feels like my whole body has stopped functioning. My heart skips a beat and my breath catches in my throat. I even imagine that my cells stop their activities while my brain tries to process Spike's suggestion. Call Angel. My heart starts beating again and time continues to tick by and yet I still stare off into the distance, imagining what it would be like to see Him again. _Painful, awkward, my mind interjects. __Remember last time? Remember laughing with him in the corridor, because if you didn't laugh you were going to cry. Remember wishing he'd hit you again, so you could get mad, or yell, or lash out, or do anything that didn't involve polite smiles and platitudes and your boyfriend waiting the next room for you to come back to him. And remember your heart breaking yet again as Angel walked away and you let him go. _

But my pulse is already racing and the weight on my shoulders seems lighter. No matter what our history, Angel is a warrior. He can fight and he can help and he can share with me the burden of protecting the world. I think that maybe now I need him more than I have ever done before.

"Call who?" Riley asks and I wonder how he can possibly be so slow on the uptake, whereas, judging by the wide blue eyes that gaze at me in concern, even Tara caught the reference to Angel and she has never even met him. But then I remember that Riley doesn't know about Spike and Angel being family, I have been deliberately sketchy on the details, whilst I'm sure Tara has heard the full story from Willow. Riley only knows about Spike's presence in Sunnydale since Angel left, so would have no idea that Spike could talk about Angel with such familiarity. After all, there are a lot of vampires in this world and no reason to assume that they all know once another.

I don't answer Riley's question, as I'm not sure how to. How do you say thanks for all your support honey, but now I'm gonna phone my ex-boyfriend, the evil fiend whom you hate, to give me the help you can't. I just sit there shifting uncomfortably and finally he gets it. He recognises the awkward silence that falls over the room whenever anybody mentions Angel and his face darkens. 

"We don't need him here," Riley announces in a strained voice. "We can sort this problem easily without him. I'll get some of my army buddies to help out."

Spike gives a derisive snort. "What? The same buddies who last year created a virtually unkillable human/demon/machine hybrid that nearly destroyed the whole town? I think I'd rather take my chances facing the apocalypse, thank you very much."

"Buffy," Riley turns to me, ignoring Spike. "You don't actually want him to come do you? Not after all the trouble he caused last time."

I refuse to look into Riley's plaintive eyes, instead staring across the room to where Willow and Tara sit snuggled together. They are so close to one another – best friends as well as lovers. I miss that.

"I can't face this alone," I tell him.

He slips an arm around my shoulders pulling me close to him in a hug that is supposed to be reassuring but comes across as needy. "You're not alone. You have me."

I bite back the first words that come to mind – _you're not enough – instead standing up and pulling away from him. "We need some serious help to deal with this, Riley. Now isn't exactly the time to let personal feelings get in the way."_

Willow looks up at me and I suddenly realise how young she is, how young we all are. I need someone older to guide me, to lean on when the going gets rough. I need someone to protect me, rather than the other way round. With Giles gone the group feels unformed, leaderless. We are just a bunch of kids, really, barely out of our teens, dealing with responsibilities far too heavy for us to carry.

"Do you want someone else to call?" She asks. Willow knows how difficult it is for me to see him and how especially difficult it will be to ask for his help, especially after our words last year. I told him I'd moved on to someone new, that he wasn't a part of my life anymore. God, I even told him I never trusted him then was too pig-headed to apologise for it afterwards. But now none of that matters, now my hand shakes and I know the sound of _his voice will steady it for me. _

"It's okay Will," I shake my head. "I can do it." I glance around at the expectant faces lining the room, then decide I should do this in private. Excusing myself, I head upstairs, ignoring the very bizarre feeling of sitting on Giles' bed, and pick up the phone receiver from his bedside cabinet. The new number Giles gave to me a few weeks ago springs easily to my mind and my fingers fly over the digits, even though I have never dialled them in this order before. I hear ringing on the other end of the line and hold my breath, waiting for him to answer…

**Angel:**

The shrill ringing of the phone shatters the quiet of the hotel and rudely jolts me out of my reverie. I can't remember what I was thinking about, but that's hardly unusual. I often sink deep inside myself, images from the past dancing through my subconscious. I relive my time as Angelus and sometimes even my time as Liam, relishing the pain these memories bring, because sometimes I think that pain is the only emotion I have left to feel. I can spend hours just sitting – brooding Cordelia calls it – because being a vampire, time is the one gift I have. Or maybe it's a curse – I don't know anymore. In the years after my soul was first restored I would spend whole decades like this, huge chunks of time I have no memory of, because I spent them living in my own head. 

After meeting Buffy I came out of myself. I began to take notice of the present again, because now there were things there I wanted to see. Once you've lived long enough, time becomes relative to how you occupy it. One hundred years passed in a blur for me and yet the few months I spent with Buffy seemed to last for an eternity. I forgot the past then. I ignored it, pretended it didn't matter, and I paid for it. I am still paying for it now, as memories rise up to claim me. The abstract nightmares seem to take physical form, pulling at me with insistent hands, their immense weight dragging me down into the darkness once more. 

Today, I think my musings lead me back to the eighteenth century, some time with Darla, anyway. I know this because I can still sense her presence lingering in the air around me. I imagine I catch the scent of the rose water she used to dab on her pulse points – a ridiculous ritual since she had no pulse anyway. The phone is still ringing, its harsh mechanical sound shocking to me in comparison to the historical images my mind has been conjuring up. I don't think I will ever get used to the modern world – its obsession with technology is something completely unfathomable to me. I wonder why Cordelia isn't answering the phone, then I remember she's not here today – none of them are, it's just me. 

I feel suddenly and irrationally vulnerable. What if it's a client, someone needing help? Demon killing I can handle. I'm even getting good at the detective work – smash a few faces into walls, see what answers fall out of them – pretty easy stuff, really. Then there's the searching through musty tomes aspect of the job, and considering the musty tomes in question are actually what I proudly refer to as my antique book collection, I don't exactly mind this task either. But dealing with the clients – the victims – soothing their hysteria and reassuring them everything is going to be all right, well, that's not particularly what I excel at. To paraphrase Cordelia, I suck at it. My people skills are seriously hampered by the fact I'm not a person. But then isn't my humanity one of the areas I'm supposed to be working on here?

I hurry across into the next room and snatch up the receiver of the phone, raising it hesitantly to my face. 

"Angel Investigations," I answer, cringing even as I say the words. I wish Cordelia had thought up another title for our business, preferably one that didn't feature my name in it. I like to keep a low profile and calling a company after myself isn't the best way to achieve that. In fact I hate the whole idea of it being a business at all. If people are paying me to help them, then I'm hardly discharging my debt to society am I? But that's an argument I could never win with Cordelia and I need her too much to risk upsetting her. She is a vital part of the firm, not only for her visions but also for her humanising influence. 

I realise the person on the end of the phone hasn't spoken yet. Then suddenly it hits me – I can feel _her even down the phone line. I strain my hearing to catch her shallow, regular breathing, its rhythm one I would recognise anywhere. It is ridiculous to be this certain about something when there is absolutely no evidence of it, but I can't help it. I __know it's her; I sense it in the dead space where my heart used to beat. _

"Buffy?"

A small nervous giggle sounds in my ear, followed by a whispered "Hi."

"Are you okay?" I ask, trying not to let the concern that utterly fills me become too obvious in my voice. "Did something happen?"

There is another long pause, during which I practically have to bite my lip to stop myself jumping in with more questions, more demands about her welfare. I know she has to tell me this in her own time, though, so I wait for her to speak and finally she does.

"Yeah, something happened." She takes a deep breath. "We-found-this-prophecy-and-demons-are-going-to-end-the-world-and-we-tried-to-stop-them-but-there-was-a-fire-and-Giles-and-Xander-are-really-sick-and-I-can't-deal-with-this-on-my-own-"

She interrupts her virtually incoherent mumbling to choke out a stifled sob and I am filled with an overwhelming urge to gather her in my arms and wipe away her tears, to protect her from ever knowing pain or danger again. But clearly I can't, because she is on the phone to me, from two hours away, and I never protected her from hurt, anyway, I only brought more. 

"Shush, Buffy," I murmur. "It's okay, it's all right."

"Can you come?" She says in a small voice and I realise how much it must be hurting her pride to be asking me for help and how bad things must be there for her to need it. 

"I'll be there as soon as I can." I think maybe there is a sigh of relief on the other end of the line as I say the words, but it's probably just my imagination, or my wishful thinking. "Everything's going to be fine, Buffy," I reassure her. "You know that, right?"

"Thanks," she replies and I hear the smile in her voice. It is followed by the telltale click of the receiver being replaced, as Buffy hangs up. I stand there for a while, just listening to the hum of the dialling tone, before putting down my own phone and moving into action.

End of Part One 

** **


	2. Hearts

CHAPTER TWO

Chapter Two 

**Tara: **

** **

The atmosphere is horribly tense as we wait in Mr Giles' house for Angel to arrive. Conversation petered out about an hour ago after we all ran out of small talk to exchange. Usually Xander sort of scares me, with his brash overconfidence and the long connection he has shared with Willow. I am nervous to be around him, because I'm not his sort of person. I can't rattle off smart comments or witty quips, and I've suffered so much teasing in my life that being made the butt of one of his many jokes often stings a little. But now I wish he was here, because he'd manage to keep everyone's spirits up with some lively chatter. Now, somehow, I feel like it should be my job to do that – perhaps because there is no one else. 

Buffy just sits curled up in the corner, her knees drawn into her chest. I know she is thinking about the battle to come, about Mr Giles in a coma in hospital and about how, even if the world does survive, the reappearance of her ex-lover could turn her life upside down anyway. If I learnt anything from seeing Oz and Willow together it's that some loves never die, even if they're not possible anymore. Willow will always love Oz, even if she chooses to be with me now. And I have to accept that as a part of who she is. Willow is Willow because of the past she has shared with him and sometimes I think I even love her more for it. I love the fact that she has a big enough heart to fit both of us in and I love that she is honest enough and open enough to tell me about these feelings – it just makes our relationship stronger rather than weaker. 

From what Willow's told me about Buffy and Angel, I guess that she feels the same way about him as Will does about Oz. He's always going to have a piece of her heart no matter who else she shares it with. But I don't think Riley can deal with that. He doesn't understand that what Buffy had with someone else has no bearing on what she has with him. He wants her to be his and his alone. This possessiveness is clear from the way that he glares daggers at Spike now – another man in the vicinity of _his _girlfriend. I look at Riley and Buffy and I worry their relationship won't make it. He keeps trying to edge closer to her, but she pulls away. I see the hurt and rejection in Riley's eyes and the confusion in Buffy's. There is a void between them that neither knows how to bridge and the realisation makes me a little bit sad. I guess when you're happy and in love, you want everyone else to be too.

Thinking about love leads me to thinking about Willow. Well, admittedly, thinking about practically _anything _leads me to thinking about Willow. Somebody just has to mention something as innocuous as French fries and I'm already imagining how cute she is when she eats them. She picks the fries up between her thumb and her pinkie finger then dips them twice each in the ketchup and nibbles at them with her front teeth. One time she got some of the sauce on her nose and I kissed it off. I don't even like ketchup, but that day it tasted wonderful, like fresh mountain air or summer rain, like Willow. 

I look at Willow now and my heart breaks. She seems so lost, so broken. I guess it's difficult for her, having two of her closest friends injured like that and then nearly dying herself. Last night she didn't sleep a wink. She just lay awake, holding on to me tightly, like if she let go and fell asleep then I wouldn't be there when she woke up. She once told me that she hated fire – hate like, phobia hate. Something to do with the way it just consumed everything indiscriminately. It didn't matter if you were rich or poor, good or evil – it could turn you to blackness and ashes anyway. She used to have nightmares about her family being killed in a fire, about being trapped and the smoke choking her. Yesterday her nightmare came true and that has to be a pretty scary experience for anybody. 

Of the four other people in the room, Spike looks the calmest, though I even detect suppressed worry in him. I don't understand the vampire – how he can be evil and still help us. It certainly isn't out of the goodness of his soul, because he hasn't got one. He must have some other agenda, something he wants or needs from us. Companionship, perhaps, since all of his kind have rejected him as a laughing stock. Occasionally, like now, I catch him looking at Buffy. It is a hungry, desperate look, not so much longing as greedy. I want to warn her about him, to watch out – he could be dangerous even with the chip in his head. But I don't think Buffy would pay much attention to me, anyway. It's not that she doesn't accept me, it's just that she sees me more as Willow's girlfriend, rather than a legitimate member of her inner circle of friends. Anything I had to say would be inappropriate and firmly under the heading of 'butting in'. It's like Riley, Anya and I don't quite fit into their group. That hurts sometimes, but it's just another thing I have to get used to if I want to be with Willow.

There is a soft knock on the door and Buffy leaps up, suddenly a whirlpool of nervous energy, whereas before her still, staring demeanour was strarting to become worrying. Riley tenses even further, a scowl firmly planted across his features. Spike is suddenly anxious, the most riled I have ever seen him – he jumps up from his chair and tries to hide in the shadows at the back of the room. Willow beside me seems to deflate, as if she has been holding her breath all this time and has now finally released it. She rises quickly and goes to answer the door, sensing without asking the reluctance of all other people in the room to do so. 

Once she has opened the door, I see a tall, broad shouldered man standing silhouetted against the porch light. His height causes him to stoop a little and his bulk fills the entire doorframe. This must be Angel, whom I have heard so much about. His appearance exactly matches Willow's description: dark, brooding and exceptionally good looking – for a guy, at least. She pulls him into a tight hug, which he returns lightly, then Willow draws away, embarrassed. They exchange smiles and words of greeting before Angel steps into the room fully, followed by a small entourage. There is a bored looking brunette I immediately know to be Cordelia, a slightly older, serious man I assume must be Wesley and another young black guy whom I have never heard mentioned.

Angel's eyes meet Buffy's for the first time and they just stand there looking at one another, neither moving. The whole of the rest of the room seems to stop and watch them, like our eyes are drawn to the electricity crackling in the air between them. Riley's expression is black and he turns away in disgust as Angel and Buffy embrace and he whispers something in her ear, something that makes her lips curl up in a smile and her eyes shine with tears. 

They pull apart and the moment is broken. The room breaks out into a babble of noise as introductions are made and old friends greet one another. I am just trying to overcome my embarrassment at being presented as Willow's girlfriend to Wesley who is clearly shocked and Gunn (the third of Angel's friends) who seems highly amused by it all, when a strangled yelp sounds from across the room. Everyone is silenced once more as our attention switches to where Angel has Spike pinned by the throat to the wall.

"What's _he _doing here?" Angel hisses and I am a little startled by the sudden contrast to the gentle man I saw hug Willow and Buffy a minute ago. 

"Angel," Buffy rushes over and lays a soothing hand on his arm. "It's all right, Spike's here to help us."

Angel flashes her an incredulous look. "Since when did Spike ever help anybody?"

"He's got this chip in his head that means he can only hurt other demons. Angel – please – we've got enough to contend with without fighting each other as well."

Angel seems to contemplate this for a while, his eyes flicking between Buffy's imploring gaze and Spike's impassive features. Eventually he releases his grip on the blonde vampire, letting him drop to the floor in a heap, where he sits rubbing his sore neck. 

"Hang on a minute," this interruption comes from Cordelia, whom I am anxious to hear speak. Willow has told me so many stories about her, not all of which fit with one another. If she's so self-centred and shallow, then what would she be doing working for a vampire whose mission in life is to help other people? 

"Angel might agree to anything once you bat your severely mascara-lacking eyelashes at him," Cordelia continues. "But don't any of the rest of us get a say in this? I for one, am not teaming up with the guy who last year tortured Angel to within an inch of his unlife. And did I mention how utterly gross it is trying to bandage wounds left by red hot pokers?" 

Buffy turns pale at the images Cordelia is stirring up. Somehow I don't think she's the only one, and Spike is also looking a little nervous at this point, as Buffy whirls around on him her eyes flashing in anger. 

"Is this true? Did you hurt him?"

Spike shrugs, climbing unsteadily to his feet. "What a little torture session or two between friends, eh Slayer?"

Buffy immediately pins him to the wall again, in much the same fashion as Angel did earlier, but this time she produces a stake from her pocket and holds it threateningly above Spike's heart. The tension in the room soars to new heights. "I should have staked you a long time ago. And if you dare lay another finger on him-"

The front door bangs as Riley storms angrily out of it, his expression unreadable. Buffy turns back in surprise, uselessly calling after him, while Spike takes the opportunity of this distraction to slip out of her grasp and away through the back entrance to the house. Buffy noticing Spike's escape and furious over Riley's departure, frustratedly slams her stake into the bare wall, her Slayer strength plunging it through the plasterboard. She swears uncharacteristically into the silence that now hangs heavily in the air, as it becomes gradually clearer to the newcomers just what a mess Sunnydale is in at the moment. 

**Riley:**

I sit in Willie's bar, studiously ignoring the assorted demons that surround me. It makes me laugh to think that six months ago I would hardly have dared set foot in this place without a backup team of six soldiers all touting machine guns. Now, I don't even have a weapon, no gun, no tazer, no stake, nada. It should worry me a bit, I guess, especially as I think I recognise the vampire sitting next to me – the one eyeing my neck – from one of our containment cells. But I don't really care. My life doesn't matter to me that much anymore. I used to have such purpose, such drive, then my whole reason for being collapsed underneath me. I was falling; I'm still falling, with only Buffy to cling on. She's meant to pull me back up, but at the moment it feels more like she's trying to push me down.

I have a sudden urge to turn to the hostile (the_ vampire_) and ask him if he wants his blood on tap rather than from a bottle. I want him to take me outside and rip my throat open so I know what it feels like. I want to see the stars dance in my vision and feel the hot blood gushing out of me then maybe I'll understand finally. Maybe I'll know what she sees in him, why she comes to life when he walks into the room. 

I know that he bit her, she would never talk to me about it but I know anyway. I've seen the scar on her neck, the two perfectly round holes where his fangs dug into her. The skin seems to burn there, to pulse with heat and life, and she goes tense anytime I try to kiss it, like it belongs to him or something. The rest of her body I can have – she's fine about _that_ – but not this little strip of skin. And somehow it just makes me want it even more. Dracula's bite faded within days – didn't even leave a mark – but his is still there a year and a half later, mocking me every time I look at Buffy's otherwise flawless skin, like he branded her his. 

That has to be the difference, the source of their connection, what he has that I don't. The blood, the danger, the dark side, the sharp fangs piercing her neck. I want to tell her to get help, that her obsession with vampires is going to kill her, to kill us, our relationship. But I'm afraid she'll tell me she doesn't care, that it's the night she wants. I'm afraid of what is inside my own girlfriend, afraid that I don't even know her. She's the Slayer and I can't even possibly imagine what that means. I fell in love with the sunshine and roses part of her. When I look at Buffy I see a golden girl with a sparkling laugh – the girl who wears Yummy Sushi pyjamas and stuffs popcorn into her mouth by the handful. I understand that part of her, I feel comfortable with it, and I wish that was all there is to her, because then things would be so much simpler between us.

But there is so much more to Buffy. Stuff she won't let me see, or stuff that I just can't see. That's why I'm here, I suppose, to learn more about the world she has lived in since she was fifteen years old. I thought I knew about what lived in the dark. I thought I had it all figured out, but then she showed me just how wrong I was. And I loved her for it. She opened my eyes, showed me the light – she was my light. But then I found out it wasn't just light she was showing me, it was darkness too and I began to think that it's easier to go around with your eyes shut. But Buffy needs someone who lives in her world, who understands the deepest parts of her and I have to be that person if we're going to stay together. And we can't split up, I love her, I need her too much, she's my life. So, I sit in the bar among the demons, pretending it brings us closer together, while she sits at home with her ex-vampire lover. While he's supporting her through a tough time I'm out here feeling sorry for myself, because I can feel her slipping further away from me with every second that passes and there's nothing I can think of to do to stop it.

I turn to the vampire next to me and open my mouth to say something _(bite me, drink me, kill me, tell me what it is I'm missing, show me what death tastes like…)_, thinking that maybe Buffy will finally notice me when I'm dead. Maybe she'll cry over my corpse, maybe I'll come back and she'll finally let me touch that spot on her neck. The vampire's eyes flash briefly gold, as if he senses my intention, and I see the hunger in him, the desperation, the need for the hunt, the kill, and I turn way, disgusted. Whether it's with the creature next to me or with myself I'm not sure, I just know I won't be feeling any fangs in me tonight. I am too weak, I can't take that chance with my life. I'm Riley Finn, country boy from Iowa – I never used to go in any bars, let alone those frequented by demons. What happened to me? Where's the man I used to be, the one I used to know?

I order another drink, my third of the night. That's another thing that's changed about me. I never used to drink a drop – alcohol blunts your senses, I was taught, but now I like them blunt. I like to see Buffy's golden hair like a halo above her head and hear her voice like music. I want to drown all my doubts and insecurities, make the world bright and shiny again instead of dark and shrouded in shadow. And it even works for a while, which is why I keep doing it I guess. 

A presence settles down on the bar stool next to me. Spike. God, could my evening get any worse? I hate this vampire almost as much as I hate Angel. Almost, but not quite, because at least I'm partially superior to Spike. I have Buffy, which he never will. I may not have all of her and it may not be forever, but for the moment it's plenty enough to throw in Spike's face. 

"Buffy didn't stake you then," I remark without looking over at him. It surprises me and it doesn't. Buffy has had plenty of chances to stake Spike in the past year, but she hasn't taken any of them. She claims it's because she doesn't like to kill defenceless creatures or because Spike can be paid or coerced into helping the gang. Sometimes I think maybe she likes having him around. Another dangerous guy in Buffy's long list – someone to fight with, to flirt with. It's the vampire connection again, the lure of the undead. Present me with the issue in terms of a psychology thesis and I could explain it to you perfectly. _Transference. _Buffy has unresolved feelings for her first love Angel, which she is projecting on to individuals with similar traits to Angel, i.e. other vampires. But when you're talking about your own girlfriend and the lingering attraction she has for her ex-lover causing her to make fuck-me eyes at your mortal enemy – then things get a bit more complicated. 

"Nope," Spike answers me with a self-satisfied smirk. "Slayer never could stay mad at me for long," he turns to the bar tender. "I'll have a bloody Mary – and with none of that tomato juice crap either."

"What about Angel?" I ask, desperately hoping that Spike will tell me some tale about Buffy dressing the other vampire down. At this point I would welcome any news of an argument between the two of them, even if it was only over Spike.

"Slipped out the back when he wasn't looking," Spike shrugs. "Wasn't exactly difficult considering all the gaping he was doing at your girlfriend."

I feel anger flare up inside of me. "He can look all he wants – Buffy's with me now."

"Yeah, right then why isn't she actually _with _you, instead of getting all friendly with my poofy-haired Grand-Sire?"

"Your what?"

Spike bursts out laughing and I want to punch him for it. What could possibly be amusing about this situation? 

"Boy, that chit of yours never tells you anything, does she? You two ever think of fitting a conversation or two in around all that shagging you do?"

His comment shuts me up for a minute. Somehow Spike has managed to put his incredible powers of intuition to work again. He's right. Buffy I hardly ever talk anymore. She doesn't tell me all the intimate details about her life, like how she's feeling or how her day went. Thinking about it, she never really did. Our relationship started out amidst such stress, what with finding out about our respective secret identities and all the trouble with the Initiative, that we never actually developed a solid basis of friendship to our love. We have always been very physical with one another, though, which I have taken as a sign of the continuing stability of the relationship. After all sex is supposed to bring people closer together, right? 

"What did you mean just then?" I finally ask Spike. 

"Angelus and I are blood," he admits with something I think is reluctance. It is the first sign I have seen of any emotion in Spike apart from indifference, anger or amusement. "He turned my Sire. He was there the night I was Made and the night I Rose." For a minute I think he is going to say something more but then he stops abruptly, draining his drink and demanding another.

"So, you two go back a long way." I enquire carefully, eager to know more about my rival (my two rivals), but sensing this is not a topic Spike exactly enjoys discussing. 

He snorts and his eyes assume a far-away look, like he is remembering better days. "One-hundred-and-thirty years give or take."

"One-hundred-and-thirty years!" I squeak. I hadn't given much thought to how old Spike was. I guess I always knew he'd been around a while, but the Initiative's theory had been that vampires were animals rather than magical creatures – hence they aged like us. We had thought that they just evolved alongside humans, intimidating their appearance by a process of natural selection in order to blend in with their prey. I was only just getting used to the idea that vampires were actually people at one point, that they were just infected by the demon and kept animate by ancient magicks. Factors like eternal life were still somewhat beyond my grasp of comprehension, so to hear that the creature sitting next to me – who looks no older than a 25 year old man – is actually over a century old is pretty astounding.

"How old is Angel then?" I am insanely curious now. If Angel helped turn Spike then he has to be even older than the bleached blonde vampire himself. 

Spike thinks for a minute. "As far as I can remember that psycho-bitch Darla Sired him somewhere around the middle of the Eighteenth Century."

I quickly do the sums in my head. That made him _250 years old_. I think about what he must have seen, done, _killed_, in those two and a half centuries and my mind boggles. How I can possibly compete with someone with that much life experience? Though, it is me Buffy is with, not him. The only question that bothers me is whether Buffy chose me because she wanted to or because she just couldn't have him. 

"So, you knew Angel when he was evil?"

Spike nods. "Yup, I was one of the chosen few cohorts of the Great Scourge of Europe himself. Bloody prick he was too."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" I answer, taking a gulp of my drink as I do so.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," he comments in a surprisingly emotional tone. I turn around to look at him and the brash, insensitive Spike is back grinning at me and I think I just imagined the years of suppressed pain and resentment in his voice. 

He lights up a cigarette with practiced ease, changing the subject with equal casualness. "So, you just going to let Peaches steal your woman or are you gonna fight for her?"

"I don't need to fight for Buffy," I rise easily to Spike's bait. "She loves me!"

"Really?" He smirks, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. "And when was the last time she told you that?"

I glare at Spike my face red with anger. I am trying to be outraged by his suggestions and his questions. My relationship with Buffy is none of his business and he has no right to be talking to me like this, none at all. But another part of me, somewhere deep down that the alcohol hasn't reached yet, is weighing the meaning of his words. When _was_ the last time Buffy said she loved me? I can't remember. In fact I can't remember her ever saying it at all. She's hinted at it enough times, but has she ever actually come out with it outright? I don't know. I've assumed she's been in love with me for so long now, that I don't stop to analyse her exact sentiments anymore – maybe I should. 

Spike takes advantage of the conversation pause caused my confusion and upset to stand up off his bar stool and shrug back into his leather coat. He drops his cigarette butt onto the floor and crushes it under his foot. "Better get used to drinking alone, Finn," he remarks, the bitter tone returning to his voice. "You're going to be doing it a lot in the future. Angelus always gets his girl. _Always_."

With that he strides confidently out of the bar, leaving me on my own staring at an empty beer glass. I should go home to Buffy, sort some of this stuff out, be the supportive, loving boyfriend she needs right now. 

I order another drink. 

End of Part Two 


	3. Fall

CHAPTER THREE

Chapter Three 

**C****ordelia:**

God, look at Buffy. Could she _be _any more obvious? Leaning over Angel like that to see the book in his lap, brushing against his arm, giving him those little-girl-lost eyes. It's like she's got every male in the room eating out of her hand. Even Gunn's drooling over her (when his attention isn't totally fixated by the virtual porno-flick that it Willow and Tara cuddled up together in the corner – I mean, hello, public display of affection alert!). Why did we all have to come here, anyway? Buffy makes one tearful phone call to Angel and suddenly we're all rushing around as if the world is going to end. OK, so the world _is_ going to end, but it's not like she hasn't dealt with that sort of thing before. 

What did she have to go calling Angel for and getting all of us involved? Hasn't she got her own big, strong boyfriend to protect her now? The one she was so keen to remind Angel of last time she was in LA, the one he brooded about for weeks afterwards and, presumably, the one that just hightailed it out of here without as much as a word of goodbye. Hmm, perhaps there's trouble in paradise after all, but that still doesn't explain why Buffy had to drag us all back to Sunnyhell. Angel better be paying me for this or else I'm out of here. I'm not staying another minute and I mean it.

I hate being back here in Sunnydale with all the reminders of my past. It makes it painfully obvious how far I've fallen in such a short time. I used to be so powerful, so popular. I had everything I could have possibly wanted. Money, designer clothes, an adoring entourage of friends, a cute little convertible with a personalised number plate. Then I went and lost it all. I went from somebody to nobody overnight. I lost my friends, my possessions, my social status. The name Cordelia Chase used to mean something. Boys desperately wanted to date me, girls wanted to be me. People actually _envied _me. Now, Cordelia Chase is just another of Hollywood's failed actresses. Another insignificant person in a long list of them.

OK, so maybe that's not true. That's not how things really are to me and to my friends. I actually like my life in LA now, I mean a little superstardom would spice things up a bit – I could even drop the 'super' part and just settle for some simple stardom – but generally I think I'm doing all right. I help people, I actually make their lives better, in fact in a lot of cases I even save their lives. And that feels good. The skull-splitting, migraine-inducing visions that I get in the process of helping these people aren't so great, but I'm still trying to negotiate with the PTB on that one. 

So, in LA I feel good about who I am and what I'm doing. I'm an integral part of the team there. I have the visions, bring in the cases, deal with the clients. Angel needs me. It's like we have a family there that I'm right in the centre of, and no matter what happens in the rest of my life I still have that special place where I belong. But here in Sunnydale our little family doesn't exist, the team dynamic is totally gone and I'm left sitting on the sidelines. And what really stings is that neither Angel nor Wesley even gave a thought to how difficult it might be for me to come back here, how painful it was to drive past my old house with its ten bathrooms and its paddock at the end of the gardens that used to hold my pony Keanu. Angel was too busy worrying about Buffy and Wesley about the end of the world. These people (well one person and one vampire) are supposed to be my best friends, and they don't even stop to think about how monumental returning to by hometown for the first time in one-and-a-half years might be for me. 

"Men," I don't realise I have spoken aloud until the whole room is staring at me strangely. "Well, I'm just saying," I shrug.

"Cordelia," Wesley admonishes me. "Do you think you could possibly concentrate on our discussion rather than drifting off into your own little fantasy world?"

"Well, I would if your discussion was even remotely interesting," I shoot back at him.

"I know it's not interesting," Angel tells me in a patient tone of voice. "But it is rather important. I want you to know all this, Cordelia, in case you get a vision, or so you're not put into danger in any way."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." I wave my hand dismissively and settle down to listen to their conversation about what hideously ugly demons are ending the world this time.

"So, there are three rituals, correct?" Wesley is skimming through a sheaf of notes. "And it was the performance of the first one, three nights ago that first alerted you to the demon's presence and their malevolent intentions."

"Uh-huh," Buffy agrees. "I managed to crash the tail end of their party. Killed two of the revellers, but the rest got away, leaving all their spell stuff behind."

"Buffy brought all the ingredients back here," Willow jumps in enthusiastically. "And Tara and I analysed them to see what kind of spell it was the demons were casting. It was quite a challenge – they were working with some pretty advanced magicks." 

"Well, I'd imagine how to end the world isn't exactly the kind of thing you learn in your first Wicca lesson," I remark, only to receive collective glares from the rest of the group.

"Anyway," Willow continues. "We finally worked out what the ritual was – the first in an ancient trilogy which can only be attempted every thirty years on certain days, with 48 hours between each of the spell castings."

"And last night was supposed to be the second ritual – only the demons tricked you with the fire?" Angel asks.

"Yeah," Buffy says in a quiet voice, acting all vulnerable around Angel again. That girl really has no shame. "They must have planned it to distract us, so that they could get on with phase two of their fun-for-all-the-family, Armageddon-inducing schemes." 

"These guys sound pretty organised," Gunn interjects.

Buffy nods thoughtfully. "They are. They seem to have every possible base covered."

"So, there's one more ritual tomorrow night, which if we don't stop the world's gonna end, right?" I butt in, both bored and impatient with all the doom and gloom this group is projecting. We've faced the apocalypse plenty of times before – it's no biggie, send Buffy and Angel a-slayin' and we'll be fine.

I don't even wait for a response before jumping up and heading towards the door. "Consider me fully briefed on the situation, okay?" I call over my shoulder before leaving. "Now, if the world's going to end tomorrow I can think of far better things to do to fill the intervening 24 hours than sit around looking depressed. See you guys later!"

I breathe a sigh of relief as I walk out the door. I had forgotten how immensely irritating it was to be around Buffy. She's never happy unless she's the centre of everybody's attention. It's like just because she's the Slayer she expects everyone to be at her beck and call. _Ooh, pass me that book. Listen to my tales of killing demons. Come help me avert the apocalypse._ It's not like she's even anything special – I mean apart from the whole, 'I'm the one girl in all the world' stuff – little blonde Barbies like her are ten a penny in LA. And that isn't even her real hair colour – believe me, I can tell. 

I drive around Sunnydale, trying to push thoughts of Little Miss Slayer 2001 out of my head. I realise on some level I am just jealous of her, because she's popular and self-assured, which I used to be and now I'm not. But the idea that Buffy might have things I don't (like a family that actually gives a damn about her, or the college opportunities I lost to the IRS along with my Trust Fund) just makes me even angrier at her, so I rev the car's engine and deliberately break the speed limit down Sunnydale's main street. This'll show them just how little I care about their crappy town!

I slow down as I pass the Bronze, however, and gaze hard at the lines of teenagers filing inside. That used to be me every Friday and Saturday night – I used to rule that club. I even had my own table reserved for me and the Cordettes, which nobody else would dare sit at. I suddenly feel melancholy for those lost days when everything was simple and easy. The only thing I ever worried about was whether anyone else would show up wearing the same shoes as me. I thought I was happy back then, but I wonder if I really was. I was so shallow and superficial that it didn't take much to please me on the outside, but on the inside I was empty. 

It took a long time for that to change and I know I'm a better person for it – unfortunately I'm a poorer person too, which doesn't score so highly in the plus column for my new life. Couldn't it be in any way possible to have money _and _humility? Or is that just too much to ask? I try to think back to what caused this difference in me, when I began to measure what's inside a person more than what is on the outside. I guess it was when I first started dating Xander. To bring myself to date someone like that I must have been able to see past the physical and to the personality underneath. In some ways I still kind of miss Xander, like how he was the only person I could truly trade insults with or how he'd get this funny look in his eyes before he went to kiss me. I remember how Buffy said he was in the hospital, still recovering from their botched mission last night, and I change the direction I am driving in, heading towards the hospital rather than the motel on the edge of town. 

The nurse on the front desk tells me that visiting hours are over, but I manage to talk her into letting me see Xander anyway. I barge into his room, a bright smile on my face and an insult on my lips then I see him and am shocked into silence – something that doesn't exactly occur very often. Xander looks sicker than I have ever seen him before. The skin on his face is bright red and blotchy and he wears and oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. Where his hands used to be are now a mass of bandages and there is a deep cut above his left eye.

"Cordelia," he croaks out, removing the mask to do so. "Come to pay your last respects have you?"

My mouth falls open in horror. "You better be joking, Harris – or I'll kill you myself."

He chuckles slightly at this. "It's okay, you can't get rid of me that easily."

I smile and sit down next to his bed while I think up my next barb. "You know," I begin, gesturing to the spot above his eyes where the flames have scorched away the hair. "I never thought the whole eyebrow-less look could ever work on anybody. And I'm glad to say you've proved me entirely right."

"Thank you, Cordy," he replies. "In my time of need your health and beauty advice is proving utterly useless."

"Well, that's what I'm here for," I remark ironically. "To be no use to anybody whatsoever."

"You could have done that in LA." He quips. "Why grace _us_ with your presence?"

"I came with the rest of the gang. Buffy called Angel and asked him for help."

Xander raises his eyebrows, or would have done if he had any left. "That serious is it?"

I survey his battered and burnt body, and suddenly the full extent of this crisis comes home to me. This isn't just any other apocalypse, there is a real risk we won't come through this one, or at least a risk that not all of us will. Xander and Giles have already been hurt and no progress was made against the demons in the process. Things are in a pretty bad way and I'd just dismissed it all as another one of Buffy's big fusses over nothing, some way to keep both Angel and her new commando-type boyfriend wrapped around her little finger at once. How wrong could I possibly be?

"Yeah, it is," I answer Xander quietly. "I really think it is."

**Spike:**

After leaving Finn in the bar I just wonder around for a while. I chain smoke, catch a few vicarious thrills watching a fledgling vampire hunt down its latest victim. Stupid arsehole made a right mess of it, though. Got caught following her home and the bint screamed and ran. I could have done so much better in my chipless days, that woman would have been half-dead with my fangs in her neck before she even knew what hit her. I always was a master at stalking people, hiding the shadows, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity, savouring the anticipation almost as sweet as the eventual taste of the blood tinged with fear and shock. But then I learnt from the best, didn't I?

Captain Cardboard doesn't even have a clue who he's friggin' dealing with. He doesn't realise the absolute power Angelus wields, over Buffy, over that little crew who follow him about, over me even, if I'm honest with myself. How do you ever break out of the influence of the bloke who was virtually your Sire? The one who taught you everything you know about your existence. Even one hundred years of separation, an army-issue chip and a goddamn _soul_ can't diminish a blood bond that deep. 

And that's why I hate the prick so much. That's why I'd like to see him explode into dust, his ashes scattered into the wind. Because no matter what the distance or the time we put between us, he's always there, he's always better than me and older than me. He always has the women, and the fancy clothes, and the posh houses, and the superior glint in his eye. Strange how that never left, even when he was at his lowest ebb, even when he was feeling his worst and his guiltiest he could still look at me with that sneer that said _'you're nothing William, you're barely even worth my consideration'._

Even my Dru, my Princess of the Night, even she preferred her darling daddy to me. He destroyed her, he drove her insane, took away everything in her life that was important to her and still she loved him more than she ever cared for me, the one who would have done anything for her. Angelus abandoned her and abused her, and she continued to ask for him. Then finally she left me, because I refused to be the obedient childe and bend to his whims any longer. I betrayed my Sire and my family and now I'm paying for it.

And I want to make Angelus pay too. I want to stake him through the heart and finally show him I had the nerve, that I'm not just his whelp anymore – I'm a Master too. But I can't do it and that's what makes me the angriest. I guess I found that out when I came after the Gem of Amara. I had big plans to kill Angel for the ring, to come back and take my revenge on his little plaything the Slayer. I was going to be the victor for once. I was going to prove my greatness. But then I fought with him, a crazy, impassioned brawl where I failed my fists more out of pure rage and pain than any deadly intentions. I realised then that there was no way I could fight this man and win – I'd lost too many battles to him already. So, I hired someone else to do it. 

I could have tortured Angel myself, God knows I've had enough practice, but I couldn't bring myself do it. I couldn't destroy him with my own hand, because it was him who made me in the first place. Even if he didn't Turn me in the literal sense, it was still him who moulded me, who raised me and trained me. I know Angelus killed his father, but I never did. I always let mine live, because to destroy what created you is to lose a part of yourself. 

Still, though, I held out the hope that even if I couldn't target Angelus personally I could ruin his life. I could take away everything that mattered to him. The irony of the idea was beautiful – I could use the same mind games and torment Angelus spent years teaching me to break _his_ spirit, I could beat him at his own game. And top of the list came the Slayer. Magnificent, stunning Buffy – the only person other than Angel himself who could beat me. I knew that if I could kill her, drain her blood into my throat then Angel would never forget it. He would finally be beaten. I would have taken his most treasured possession from him.

But then the bloody army had to get in the way didn't they? I can say with absolute certainty that being rendered the vampire equivalent of impotent was _not _part of my agenda. But I decided in my usual pragmatic way to make the most of it. Maybe I could still continue my offensive with the Slayer. An even more fantastic idea occurred to me (and admittedly it was that little lesbian witch and her incompetent spell casting that helped here) – what if I didn't just kill the Slayer, what if I possessed her in a way that would drive Peaches even crazier. What if I actually _had _her, you know, shagged her in the way that he couldn't because of his stupid curse. Then who would feel less of a man?

So, I started my charm offensive. Okay, so maybe I wasn't particularly charming, but then it's not exactly my forte. I did the best I could under the circumstances and it seemed to be working too. She was actually beginning to trust me. She told me about her Mum having cancer and let me look after her sister. She even invited me into her house. And all the time something strange was starting to happen, something that I'd never anticipated. I was actually starting to want her.

I mean the idea of bonking Summers had always been a pretty attractive one, because let's face it – she's a pretty attractive woman. And obviously bedding the Slayer is considered a major coup in the vampire community, definitely something that would earn me back some of the respect this damn chip has caused me to lose. So, there are of the two plus points to the whole operation, not including, of course, the big get-revenge-on-Angelus aspect. But soon it became more than just that. It evolved into an obsession to touch her, to taste her skin and her blood, to have her calling out _my _name. It's not just about my Grand-Sire anymore, it's about me and her and my obsessive desire to feel her tight little body pressed against mine.

But then _he _had to come and spoil it again. He had to turn up just as I was getting somewhere with Buffy. Commando boy is hardly a threat, he's too weak and pathetic to ever keep hold of someone as powerful as the Slayer, but Angelus is different. He's the one who invaded her heart first and he's never left it since. She's never going to transfer her affections to me while he's still around. It's like Drusilla all over again – Angel always gets who he wants, and in a way so effortless it makes me want to burn his eyes out with holy water. Peaches wins again and Spike loses. I've been playing these games for 130 years already and now I'm sick of them, sick of always coming fucking last. I can't bloody well do this for the rest of eternity. It's time to change the rules – but if only I knew how. 

I wonder back to my crypt as I sense the dawn coming. I think I'll sleep for a while so I'm awake in time for my daytime soap operas. Tomorrow shouldn't be all that bad a day – beer, fags and telly, what more could a bloke want? Apart from fresh human blood and a good lay, but as neither of those seem forthcoming I'll just have to make do with the six pack I've got in the fridge and a double bill of _Passions_. I am just thinking how far I've fallen from those heady days touring Europe, staying in the best hotels, nights spent full of death and debauchery, when I am grabbed from behind by persons or non-persons unknown.

I let out a colourful string of curses, chastising myself for not realising someone was following me home. Well, that's what happens when you have too much to drink, I suppose.

"What the Hell do you want?" I croak to the owner of the arm that is wrapped securely around my throat. This is one opportunity in which I'm glad I don't need to breathe, because I probably couldn't even if I tried. I'm guessing this is a demon rather than a human that's holding me, as I can feel sharp little spines digging into my skin. I try to fight back, knowing that it won't activate the chip, but the creature's grip is too secure and I can't move. 

"To make a deal," a low gravely voice replies to my question. "We think we can help you, if you're willing to help us…"

**End of Part Three**


	4. Vows

CHAPTER FOUR

Chapter Four 

**Buffy: **

I didn't sleep much last night – too much on my mind, I guess. I mean how many twenty-year-old women have to deal with a mother with cancer, a sister who's the mystical Key to the universe, the imminent end of the world, the return of their vampire ex-lover who makes a career of breaking their heart and the temper tantrums of their current boyfriend – all at once? Just me, right? I'm that one special girl in all the world. 

Well, first things first. You should deal with the problems you can solve before trying to tackle those that are completely beyond you. Which is why I am currently standing outside Riley's dorm room, poised to knock on his door. I was _not _impressed with his behaviour last night – he was supposed to stay there and support me, not just disappear off to…wherever the Hell he disappeared to. But I suppose the last time Riley met Angel the bruises didn't fade for a week, so maybe he has an excuse for not really liking the guy. And I might possibly have overreacted at Spike slightly for whatever torture he performed upon Angel. After all, it did all happen over a year ago before Spike had that chip put in him and he has changed a _lot _since then. But it's Angel, you know, and I hate the idea that somebody hurt him and I wasn't there to stop it happen or make it better. 

I know I shouldn't still be feeling like that over my ex. I know I should have moved on by now. Angel's a big boy, he can take care of himself. Like he told me last year, he's in danger every day and it usually doesn't bother me. But that's only because I refuse to let myself think about it. If I imagined him in pain or fighting for his life, then there's no way I could possibly avoid rushing to his side to help. When I came to LA after Faith, it was partially about vengeance – she'd hurt me and I wanted her to pay. But underneath it all there was fear, fear of what she'd do to Angel, worry that this time she'd finish off the job she started in Sunnydale, because I knew she held as much of a grudge against him as she did against me.

And then I saw her in his arms, him holding her, comforting her, like he used to do to me and I just saw red. I was mad that I'd gotten so worried about him for no good reason. I was angry with myself that I couldn't get through to Faith – that I'd come after her to kill her – when Angel clearly proved she was just frightened and confused and needing understanding. And maybe I was just a teensy-weensy bit jealous. Faith kills a whole load of people and gets to cry in his arms. I love him until the sheer intensity of it tears apart my soul, and all I get is punched in the face. We yelled at each other then – Angel and I – and we did something I don't think we'd ever done before when he was himself and not Angelus. We deliberately set out to hurt one another. And that killed me, that was what made me cry all the way home on the bus – the flow of bitterness and pain that passed between us, where once there was only love.

Then he came to apologise and I chastised him for treating me just like any other ex-girlfriend, because I know that we're much more than that to each other. We made promises, we promised forever, and those vows don't just cease to matter when two people break up. We'll always love one another, because there's no way we could possibly ever stop. Even if we're with other people, even if we're separated for years, we'll always be part of each other. That's why I knew I could call him now. I knew that if I asked for his help he would come and he would make everything okay again. Sometimes I need someone to do that, to be my strength, to take over when it all gets too much. 

And, now, I suppose I feel better. I'm not as lost or as hopeless as I was yesterday. We have a plan now. The final ritual must take place directly over the Hellmouth itself, so we're going to be there, hiding, waiting. Angel and I will mount the attack, with his friend Gunn and hopefully Riley and Spike acting as our back-up and protecting the non-fighters. Willow and Tara are spending the day looking up protection spells, so nobody will get hurt this time. As long as everyone sticks to the plan then everything should go fine and life will be back to normal by this time tomorrow.

Normal. Right. That's why I'm here, to make things up with my _normal _boyfriend. I'm not sure if I'm going to apologise to him yet, or even if I have anything to apologise for. But I'll probably say whatever he wants me to say just to make peace between us again. Riley is a nice guy, hell, he's a _great _guy. He always does and says all the right things. He's sweet and he's loving, and I'm really lucky to have him. So, I have to make up with him again, because if I don't then I'll be alone again and I can't face that. I really care about Riley. It hurts me when he hurts and it's like he's part of my world now. Not quite part of _me_, but definitely part of my life and I don't want to lose that.

I knock on the door. Three sharp raps, business-like. That's how I am all the time now, everything I face is just another problem to be solved, another lot of stress to deal with. I miss the days when things were fun and gentle and relaxed, but then I guess this is just what it's like to grow up and have responsibility. 

Riley opens the door looking tired and dishevelled. He rubs his eyes, like he is surprised to see me.

"Buffy."

"Hi," I say with a slight smile.

He steps aside and lets me past him into his room. It is messier than usual, which amuses me slightly – Riley is usually so uptight about cleaning, a side effect of being in the army. Now the mess is reassuring, like he's beginning to relax a little. 

"I wasn't expecting you," he hurriedly gathers up handfuls of clothes and stuffs them into drawers.

"Well, I thought I'd better drop by and mend a few fences," I reply, moving to grip his wrist to halt his frenzied tidying. As I do so I tilt my face close to his and catch the scent of stale alcohol on his breath. I pull away.

"Have you been drinking?"

He looks ashamed of himself. "Yeah, I kind of ran into Spike last night and we went for a beer together."

I raise my eyebrows, I can't quite see Riley and Spike as drinking buddies, somehow. But stranger things have happened. "What did Spike have to say for himself?"

Riley frowns. "Only that he hates Angel almost as much as do."

"They have a lot of history to get over," I answer lightly, not liking the direction this conversation is starting to take. 

"Yeah, 130 years of it," Riley says, his voice filled with repressed hostility.

"Please," I sigh. "I didn't come here to talk about Spike or Angel, I wanted to discuss us."

"Really?" He responds with a slight flash of characteristic anger. "And what was it you wanted to say?"

I eye him warily, feeling annoyance begin to rise in me. I came to offer the hand of reconciliation and he doesn't even seem interested in accepting it. I take a deep breath and try to keep calm. I don't need this upset right now. 

"I don't want us to argue, Riley." I answer slowly.

His face crumples and he reaches out to take my hand gratefully. "I don't want it either. And I'm sorry – for last night. It's just difficult for me, seeing you and Angel together."

"I understand." I tell him, even though I don't, not really. Angel broke up with me. He left. We aren't together anymore, there's no way we can ever be together, so why does Riley feel so threatened? He can't possibly be jealous. I'm with him now, not Angel. _He's _the one who gets to go home with me at the end of the night, so what's the problem?

He sits down on the end of the bed and holds his head in his hands, obviously upset by something. After a couple of seconds he looks up at me desperately. "I just feel like I'm losing you, Buffy. Like you're slipping away from me somehow."

I sit down next to him, slightly shocked by his display of emotion. "I'm here," I reassure him uncertainly. "I'm right here."

"Good," he replies, gripping on to my arm. "Buffy, there's something I have to tell you."

I nod my head slowly. "Sure, go ahead."

"It's just that all this end of the world stuff kind of makes you re-evaluate your own life and think about how fragile it all is."

I smile slightly. "I know what you mean."

"And there's something I realised," he takes a deep breath before continuing. "I love you, Buffy. More than I've ever loved anyone else before."

"I know," I whisper, touched if not a little frightened by the intensity of his feeling. I lean into kiss him softly and hesitantly. Our lips touch briefly and then he pulls away.

"That wasn't all of it," he says and I notice he is shaking slightly. He gets up and paces briefly around the room as I wait for him to speak. Eventually he comes and sits back down next to me, taking one of my hands in his.

"Will you marry me?"

I jump up, shocked beyond belief by his question. _Marry? Riley?_ How out of the blue can this possibly be? I don't know what to say, I haven't the faintest idea whether my voice would even work right now. 

"I-I…" I try to speak, then have to swallow deeply. "Did I just hear you right?"

"Yes," he replies rather nervously. "I'm serious about this Buffy. I don't want to lose you, ever."

I nod in response not trusting myself to speak any further. He loves me, he wants to spend the rest of his life with me. And I…I… how do I feel about him? Can I see us married, with kids and a white picket fence? I don't even know. I can't see past this evening, let alone on to my long-term future. I've never really thought about marriage, I never thought I would actually survive to the age when I would be old enough to consider it. I mean when I was sixteen I used to dream about me and Angel possibly being married someday, but those were just fantasies of a teenage girl in love. And since then the idea hasn't even crossed my mind. But obviously it's been a pretty major feature in _Riley's_ thoughts.

"I don't know what to say," I reply eventually and Riley's face falls.

"I think 'yes' or 'no' are the customary choices for an answer." He tries to make a joke but it falls entirely flat. 

"I can't even think about this right now," I say in confusion and slight anger at him for springing something this huge on me just at exactly the wrong time. "I could die tonight! We all could die! This is not something I need to be worrying about."

"It wasn't _meant_ to worry you."

"Oh God," I moan. "I'm sorry Riley. That's not…"

"So, I'm assuming the answer's no." He says, his expression pained. 

I look into his face and at the hurt there and I feel totally and utterly lost again, like I'm drowning in deep water. He loves me so much and I don't want to break his heart.

"The answer's I don't know." I reach over and squeeze his hand. "This is just a big decision and I need some time to think on it, okay?"

He smiles up at me, the light of hope shining brightly in his eyes. And I can't help cursing myself for putting it there.

**Angel:**

I check my watch for about the twentieth time in the past five minutes. Buffy isn't exactly late yet, she said she'd meet us back at Giles' around eightish and I know from bitter experience that Buffy's definition of punctuality is somewhat different to the rest of the western world's, so there's no real reason to feel concerned about her. That never stopped me worrying before, however, and it's not stopping me now. 

I glance up at the clock on Giles' mantelpiece, absent-mindedly noting that it is two minutes slow. The dial reads twenty-five past eight. Buffy should be here by now. It's not like her to show up late for something as important as tonight is. She fully understands the dangers, the likelihood of the world ending, so why isn't she here? She knows she has a duty to be fulfilled as a Slayer and she always used to be committed to that duty, ready and willing to do whatever she could. Maybe she's changed since I last saw her. It hurts to acknowledge, but she could be an entirely different person, someone I don't even know anymore. 

The mere fact that she's gone to find Spike to ask him to help us out tonight shows how much things have altered in Sunnydale since I left. Spike and Buffy used to be mortal enemies, they tried to kill each other on innumerable occasions and now they're working together. According to Willow he is practically part of the gang now, he goes patrolling with Buffy and helps them defeat whatever dire threat it is they are facing at the time. And, somehow, I'm having a little trouble actually believing this incarnation of Spike. I've known the other vampire for over one hundred years, I brought him up as practically my childe. Angelus taught him to be ruthless and vicious, to play mind games with his victims and now I'm worried that this is just a case of the pupil excelling the teacher. 

If it weren't for the microchip in Spike's head that prevents him from harming anything human then I wouldn't even have considered letting Buffy anywhere near him. I've seen William visit as much pain and suffering on innocent people as I ever did in my worst days and he never once showed an ounce of remorse. He may have the chip that stops him from actually carrying out such acts anymore, but it can't possibly change who he is inside. It won't have taken away the bloodlust or the evil. It won't have given him a soul or a conscience. As much as Spike may appear to have joined the good guys now, I know he can't possibly have truly done so, because I know what it's like to be a soulless vampire. I know the call of the demon and the sweet joy that comes with the killing, the murder and the torture. That's who Spike is, not some maverick warrior.

But I am sensible enough to know that Spike could also be a help to us. Whatever his reasons or his motivations, he could provide another pair of hands to fight the demons and as long as he can't harm humans, then he can present no possible threat to us. So, when Buffy announced she was going to see him this afternoon, I offered only a brief protest. Eventually, I let her go with a warning to be careful, to always remember what William is and to never drop her guard around him. She dismissed my concerns in a way I found quite hurtful. Once she considered my every word filled with importance and wisdom and now she just ignored me, presuming my motivations for warning her to be only over-protectiveness or jealousy, rather than there actually being a genuine issue I wanted to alert her of. 

Though, I suppose if I want Buffy to listen to my judgement, I should also respect hers. She insists that Spike has changed, that there have been a lot of situations recently where his help has been invaluable. She says I should give him the benefit of the doubt. And in way I know I should, because Buffy is not a naïve person. She knows about vampires and how evil they can be and she also knows what Spike used to be like, when he first arrived with Drusilla in Sunnydale. And Spike isn't the most cunning trickster I have ever met. He wears his emotions on his sleeve, clear for everyone to see. It is obvious when he is angry or upset and his love for Drusilla always shone through his tough demeanour, as did his resentment of me. So, if Buffy sees good intentions in Spike then they are probably there, no matter how improbable I find the suggestion. 

I see Riley check his watch too and am pleased to notice the worry imprinted clearly on his features. He is another individual whose emotions are always blatantly obvious, but at least from that I can discern his clear love for Buffy and his concern from her now. I want Buffy to be with someone who loves her, someone who sees her for the wonderful, precious person that she is, someone who puts her happiness above all else. That doesn't mean I like Riley, though. The pure fact that he is sleeping with the woman I love is enough to lead me to want to tear his body limb from limb, but I also have other reservations about him. He just seems sort of _unstable _to me. As apparent as his love for Buffy is, his hatred for me is equally so. He seems to be filled with a deep turmoil of emotions, none of which he can truly handle. Waiting here with him for just these few hours has been almost more than I could bear. 

Riley doesn't appear to be willing to make peace with me either for Buffy's sake or for the sake of the fight we are currently embroiled in. Several times this evening we have nearly come to blows due to his hostile responses to any suggestions I have made or conversations I have participated in. And his aggressive attitude extends not only to me, but also to the rest of my staff from LA. I can understand why he might dislike me, I am after all a vampire. I'm a monster who used to date his girlfriend. I put her through more pain than anyone should have to suffer. If he cares about Buffy at all then of course he hates me. But to hate my friends, just because of their loyalty to me, that I can neither understand nor respect. 

It was better earlier on. When Buffy was here to draw the group together things were almost civil. Riley tends to go all quiet around her, his behaviour tempered by her presence. He dares not say or do anything that may conceivably upset her. And Buffy takes the lead, she is finally blossoming like I always knew she would. Becoming the Slayer gave her power and now she has the maturity to deal with that power sensibly and responsibly. She inspires her friends, protects them and yet turns to them for help and support when she needs it, never elevating herself above them. She is calm and collected in the face of danger and always utterly determined to win – a true warrior. 

Seeing Buffy again is an experience I can only describe as exquisitely painful. Her presence lights up the room and if my heart actually beat it would race at the mere sight of her. And there is no way I can be in the same room as her again without falling deeply and hopelessly in love with her once more. And there comes the pain part, being near her and loving her whilst simultaneously knowing that we can never actually be together is pure torture. And to witness her with somebody else, someone who has all those things I covet so desperately, is to know Hell on Earth. But I just sit here stoically, impassively, not letting any of these emotions show. Partly because what would be the point? They are each and every one utterly hopeless. My love, my pain, my jealousy, they won't help the situation any – in fact they would probably make it even more tense. And the second reason I keep my feelings to myself is because I have long forgotten how to share them with others even if I wanted to. It took me all my strength and courage just to tell Buffy 'I love you', a truth that burns eternally in my veins, so how could I possibly explain to her (or anyone) the rest of the confused mess that is my heart. 

More minutes slip achingly slowly away and the silence still stretches awkwardly over the room. Nobody dares to remark on Buffy's lateness, because that would be to admit that there might actually be something wrong. I wish she were here now, not only to assuage my fears over her welfare, but also to smooth over the tension within the gathered group, to create some sort of cohesion that we are going to need if we are to all band together in a battle. As it is most of the members of our congregation won't even speak to one another, let alone fight together.

Willow and Tara seem too wrapped up in one another to deal with the outside world right now. Willow's nervousness is increasing tenfold with every minute Buffy does not return, which I suppose I can understand – she already has two of her closest friends in the hospital, there's no way she wants to see a third there. And Tara seems painfully shy around all these new people, a trait that is causing me to warm to her already. Never having been the most social person myself, I can appreciate her desire to hide away in the corner, especially when faced with scrutiny over her lifestyle choices. And the fact that she seems to be making an effort to be friendly, anyway, when the situation is clearly so difficult for her to deal with, just makes me like her even more. Her and Willow's relationship doesn't phase me in the slightest – how could it possibly after all I've seen (and done) in 250 years of unlife? I just hope that they won't let other people's opinions and prejudices split them up. True love is such a rare and precious thing, so much so that when it happens it should be allowed to blossom and grow, not be stifled or distorted by pain and resentment. That way only leads to heartbreak and loneliness, and there speaks the voice of experience. 

Anya made a reappearance earlier in the day, stating that she was only present because Xander requested that she should be so and that she would only help save the world if Buffy was going to be nice to her from now on. She and Cordelia promptly got into a huge argument, the particulars of which I am trying desperately to repress, although I do remember Xander, and Cordelia's supposed romantic infatuation with him, being a large subject of contention. Now Anya sits sulking in the corner, with Cordelia stationed across the other side of the room as far away from her as possible. Wesley, shocked into silence by some of the insults and the hostilities that have been flying around the room (back and forth between Riley and I, as well as between Cordelia and anyone who dares cross her path), has retreated into the solace of research and now sits pouring over a book, pretending not to notice the glares we are all giving one another. Gunn has gone for a walk, or more accurately he stormed out in the pretence of going for a walk, after Riley made some crack about him being no better than a vampire's lackey and I had to pull the two of them off each other. All in all, the atmosphere is not exactly on the friendly side and things seem only to be getting worse as more time passes.

"That's it," Riley leaps up from where he is seated. "Buffy should have been back by now – I'm going to look for her."

"Alone?" I growl out, unable to hold my tongue on this matter. The idea of Riley and Buffy on their own together in a dark cemetery is just too much for me to cope with right at this moment.

"The last time I checked," he snaps back at me. "Finding _my girlfriend_ wasn't exactly a two-man job. But then you're not exactly a man, are you?"

My whole body tenses in response to his insult and I clench my fists by my sides, preparing to fly at him if he makes just one more comment… But Wesley lays a calming hand on my arm. 

"Please," he admonishes us. "Could you just put aside your personal grievances for now and concentrate on the task in hand. All this arguing is giving me quite a headache."

"You're not the only one with a headache." Cordelia interjects and I glance across the room to see her stand up rubbing her temples, only seconds before her eyes roll back in her head and her knees begin to buckle. I rush over in a flash, reaching her side just in time to scoop her up in my arms and prevent her head from hitting the corner of Giles' walnut coffee table. 

"Oh my God, Cordelia!" Willow shrieks. 

"What's the matter with her?" I hear Riley say simultaneously.

"She's not dying is she?" Anya adds with anxiety. "It wasn't my fault. Wishes I make don't come true any more, remember?"

"Vision." I explain tersely, as Cordelia begins to stir in my arms. I wipe the stray strands of hair from off her face and gaze searchingly into her eyes, which flutter open full of fear.

"What is it?" I ask softly. "What did you see?"

I am aware of the whole room gathered behind me, listening in tense anticipation as Cordelia struggles to form the words. 

"Spike," she chokes out, climbing ungainly to her feet with my aid as she does so.

"Has something happened to him?" I ask with not much concern, if Spike was the only subject of her vision then I am not particularly worried.

"You could say that," she replies equivocally. "The chip – it's gone. And…and-" she hesitates slightly, causing my whole body to stiffen in alarm. Suddenly I don't like what I'm hearing. Cordelia takes a deep breath and fixes me with sorrowful eyes before continuing. 

"He's got Buffy…"

End of Part Four 

_To be continued…._

_ _

Yes, I know leaving it there is bordering on sadism, but I thought that if Joss can be that evil then so can I. But don't worry, I am already working on the next part and it'll be up as soon as possible. In the meantime, remember to fill in the review box and thank you for reading!


	5. Chains

CHAPTER FIVE

_A/N ~ _Thanks for all the feedback guys, I really appreciate it. But a note to any B/S fans – I am totally devoted to the B/A pairing, so don't expect any happy fluffy moments between Buffy and Spike. What I am trying to explore here is my B/A oriented explanation of Spike's feelings for Buffy, i.e. my total denial that they could ever get together in the show. Also I have trouble believing that Spike could possibly be _in love _with Buffy owing to the fact that, chip or no chip, he is still without a soul. But this is just my opinion – if you don't agree with it, don't read. You have been warned!!! J

Chapter Five 

**Buffy:**

The first thing I notice as I regain consciousness is the pounding pain in my head. It feels like I've been hit by a sledgehammer, which – considering my life – is an actual possibility. The second thing I notice disturbs me a little bit more – I can't move my arms and legs. I can still feel them, so I'm pretty sure they're still _there_, and I can sort of wiggle them around a bit, but any big movements are prohibited. As my mind begins to clear a bit, I start to realise why. I am tied up.

Okay, panicking now. I try desperately to open my eyes and at least get some idea of my surroundings, but I soon notice a third thing. In addition to the being knocked unconscious and the being chained to the wall, I have also been blindfolded. Somehow I'm guessing this isn't just some belated birthday trick my friends have played upon me. I hear footsteps approaching and the reality of the situation comes home to me with a chilling shock. I have been kidnapped and chained up by someone, or _something_, whose intentions are likely to be homicidal at best. 

The footsteps pause in front of me and I suddenly wonder why I am still alive. If this thing wants to kill me then why hasn't it just done so already? Maybe it wants me alive for something…something worse than death. _OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGodohGodohGodohGohohGod… _

_ _

__Rough hands reach up and yank off my blindfold and I catch the scent of leather, beer and acrid cigarette smoke. The cloth around my eyes comes off and I blink a couple of times, adjusting my vision to the dim light. Gradually a face starts to come into focus. Spike. I breathe a sigh of relief – he's come to rescue me, everything's going to be okay. All those fantasies of prolonged torture, or hideous evisceration, or becoming a sacrificial offering in a bid to end the world, can all be forgotten. I wait for Spike to untie me, words of thanks already forming on my lips, when his mouth twists upwards into a cruel sneer and he starts to laugh.

"Evenin' Slayer. Glad to see you're back with us again. Wouldn't have wanted you to miss out on all the fun."

For a moment I am utterly confused. _What's going on? Why isn't he helping me? _Then my memories gradually start to come back. My heart sinks in pure horror and I feel the blood drain from my face. I lift up my chin and start to scream…

**Spike: **

It was ridiculously easy. I had this whole big intricate plan. How to get her on her own, away from the poof and Captain Cardboard. But as it turned out, I didn't need any of it. _She came to see me_. Can you even believe how perfectly it worked out? I didn't even have to go hunting after the bloody Slayer – she came to me. 

I was at home, in the middle of one of my telly programmes, when she comes storming in, prancing about, all full of herself. I nearly gave the game away then, I was laughing so hard, especially when she actually _apologised_ for nearly staking me last night. I'd never heard anything so entertaining in my life, stuff 'Passions' – this girl could have a TV show all of her own. But somehow, I managed to keep a straight face. I acted all indignant, like I'd only help her out with her stupid Sacred Duty if she asked nicely enough. And all the time I was thinking about what it would be like to rip out that sweet, white throat of hers and how I could do it – if I wanted to – it was just a question of waiting for the right moment. And then it came…

I plopped back down on the bed, pretending to ignore her, pretending that she was the last possible thing on my mind, that I couldn't give a damn about her whole little save the world campaign, which wasn't really all that hard considering it was true. I opened a can of beer and flicked idly through the channels on my TV set, waiting for her to take the bait. And like a good little Slayer, she did.

She sat down next to me, uncomfortable at first, but becoming less and less bothered by the fact she was in my crypt, perched on the edge of my bed, as I continued to pay no attention to her whatsoever. I knew that would get to her – she always has to be in the centre of things, have someone hanging off her every word. Well, maybe Peaches and Soldier boy are willing to pander to her little insecurities, but I'm not. I just switched over to the afternoon movie and continued sipping at my can, until I felt her insistent tug on my arm.

"Spike! Are you even listening to me? This is important."

"Sure, love, whatever you say." I replied with a private smile, switching off the TV and reaching into the cooler for another beer. "Want a drink?"

She crinkled up her nose in that innocent, little-girl-like way she has. "At five o'clock in the afternoon – I think not."

I shrugged and dropped the can back into its icy home. "Your loss."

"Spike?" She leaned over towards me. "Are you all right? You're acting kinda weird."

"You think?" I replied, my whole body tingling with anticipation – it was nearly time.

"Is this because Angel's here?" She asked, and I suppressed a snort of laughter. 

"You could say that, love. You could say that." I vamped out, twisting my body around to cover hers in one rapid movement that that took only a split second to execute. I pinned her to the bed, my hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back, my fangs inches above her pale neck. I swear I nearly lost control right then, I nearly killed her straight away, the rush was so much – the resurgence of power through my body after being deprived of it for so long, the look of pure shock on the Slayer's face, the faint aroma of fear I was beginning to scent upon her. But in the end it was the one blemish on her neck that stopped me from tearing into her right then and there. _His mark_. Angelus' claiming bite.

It is accepted policy in vampire society that when an elder vampire bites a human – without killing them, of course – then that human is designated their property. Any younger or inferior vampires touching that property without its owner's permission are liable to get their heads ripped off. I saw Angelus' mark then and flashes of the thirty years I spent under his tutelage came rushing back to me. He was a heartless bastard. Lessons were reinforced by lashings, or weeks spent chained up without food until the hunger was so bad I would have chewed off my own foot just to possibly get a single drop of blood out of it. Suffice it to say, I learnt quickly and made few mistakes. So, when presented with my Grand-Sire's mark, my vampire instincts told me to stop right there and then, and I did.

Buffy looked up at me with wide eyes, trying to project a confidence that it was blatantly obvious she didn't feel. "Spike! What are you doing? You're hurting me!" At this last statement, her expression changed from one of surprise to one of horror. "Oh my God, your chip – it's gone."

She started to struggle then, thrashing wildly underneath me, using all her Slayer strength and desperation to try to punch and kick. But I had planned my actions too well, I was holding her in exactly the right position, so that she could struggle all she liked but still not be able to move any. I remembered all the times within the past year she'd pinned me up against walls, or chained me up in bathtubs. I recalled the pain and the humiliation, and it felt so good to have the upper hand again. It's true what they say – revenge is a dish best served cold.

"Now, now, Slayer." I smirked. "Don't tire yourself out just yet. I want you to have some energy left for the festivities."

"Get off me!" She started up her attempts to escape again, elbowing me painfully in the ribs before I managed to grab hold of her hand and pin it back down against the coverlet.

I twisted her wrist so hard she let out an involuntary yelp and went limp underneath me. "That's better," I said, watching her warily. "You don't want to make the homicidal maniac – who's currently got you at his total mercy – mad now, do you?"

"Screw you," she snapped back and I was laughing again. As if a few not so impressive swearwords were going to save her now. 

I yanked on her hair again and leant down to kiss her roughly on the lips, thrusting my tongue into her mouth. She bit down hard on it and I pulled away, only to receive a mouthful of blood spat back in my face. Annoyed I wiped it away. She was really going to pay now. I'd tried to place nice, to play fair – okay so maybe I wasn't either of those, but at least before I was going to offer her a chance of a relatively painless death (dependent on her willingness to have sex with me, obviously), but now the gloves were off.

"You're going to regret you did that, Slayer." I wrapped my hand around her throat, gradually increasing pressure until her eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets and her face went red. Then I let go, and she began to breathe again, gasping in deep gulps of air. 

"I'm going to move now, Summers." I told her, gazing hard into her frightened eyes and shifting my position off her legs. "Stay right where you are and you'll get to live a lot longer. And if you're a really good girl, then I might even let you stay dead after I kill you."

It was that comment that did it, unfortunately. That was the one error in my otherwise perfect plan. The idea of being a vampire was just too much for her to cope with and I'll give the girl her due, she's got some damn good fight in her. She arched her entire body off the bed, suddenly and with enough force to throw me off to one side, then she brought her legs round in a swift kick that impacted hard on my lower back, just where my kidneys used to function. She took the momentary opportunity my searing pain provided her with to twist out of my grip, leap off the bed and run across the room. 

Milliseconds later I was up and after her, unwilling to let such a wonderful chance as this to torture the Slayer – especially _this _Slayer – escape me. My crypt is only small and I crossed it in several strides, reaching her just as she was struggling to open the door. A shaft of sunlight hit my hand, causing it to smoke but I ignored it and grabbed hold of her top anyway, pulling her back into the darkness. She lashed out with a few well-timed blows, one of which I think broke my nose, but I managed to overbalance her and she crashed down hard against the stone floor, knocking herself out. 

After that, I carried her down through the sewer tunnels to this cave, one I had used before, in my pre-chip, Big Bad days. It still has the chains on the walls and everything – talk about ideal. There is one drawback, though – Angelus knows about it. And of course the poof is going to come running after his little girlfriend. Never mind, he'll arrive just in time to find her mutilated body. 

Now, I clamp my hand over her mouth to stop that infernal screaming of hers. Nobody will be able to hear her, mind – it's just giving me a headache. 

"Perhaps you're forgetting the situation here, love." I tell her. "Generally, helpless captives only speak when they're spoken to."

She stops screaming and I remove my hand, pleased, until she starts up again. 

"Help! Help! Please… Angel!"

And now I'm really mad. Like _he's _going to be able to save her. I'm the one in charge here. I'm the one with the power. She should be begging me to help her not _him._ I grab her throat once more, slamming her head back against the stone wall. She shuts up immediately, the defiance in her eyes turning quickly into fear as I slide my spare hand up her top and squeeze her breast hard, imagining with pleasure the bruises my fingers will be leaving on her skin. 

"You're my prisoner now, Slayer." I hiss at her. "I can do anything I want to you – and you'll do well to remember that, before you go yelling for your White Knight to come and rescue you. He's not coming. It's just you and me from now on – just you and me."

I remove my hand from her throat, replacing it with my mouth, licking her neck roughly and grazing it with my exposed fangs. Keeping hold of her breast, I push my other hand between her legs.

"No," she whimpers. "Please, Spike, no…" And it is the sweetest sound in the world. 

**Riley: **

At first I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to hear about Buffy being in danger like that. I wanted for everything to be okay. I wanted to believe that she'd breeze in through that door in two minutes time, apologising for being late and confessing she had to stop off to get snacks or something. Sometimes I just can't face anymore of all this supernatural stuff. Sometimes I just wish I could be spending the evening at the movies with my girlfriend, not helping to save the world. 

That's my dream, I suppose. Buffy and I living with normal lives, just your average young couple in love. But the worried attitudes of everyone else after that girl Cordelia's vision, soon convinced me that Buffy I and wouldn't be together at all – ordinary lives or not – unless we could save her now. Willow explained that Cordelia is sent messages from the Powers that Be, warning her of people in trouble and yet I still didn't understand. Who are these 'Powers'? I've always been religious and have believed in one God in control of everything. How can there be these other people, beings watching over us as well, sending visions to ex-cheerleaders who work for vampires? I feel totally out of depth with these people – like none of their ideals conform to mine. 

And then there was the issue of what exactly Cordelia saw, and her claims that Spike's behaviour is no longer controlled by his chip, and I couldn't comprehend how that could be possible, either. I've worked with those microchips extensively and I've never seen a single one fail. They were tested and tested, until we were convinced of their mechanical perfection. As long as that chip remains in Spike's head then he will be completely unable to hurt any other human being, including Buffy. But then that raised another possibility – that Spike had managed to get the chip removed somehow. However, it was buried so deep in his skull then there was no possible way anyone could ever get it out, not without damaging Spike's brain somehow. 

It is this worry that I have kept to myself and that makes me more determined than ever to find Buffy – the chance that the amateur brain surgery someone has obviously performed on Spike, has left him even more psychologically damaged and deranged than your usual soulless vampire. In this case Buffy would be in even more danger. Spike wouldn't be rational or controlled. He would be totally unstable and likely to kill Buffy at any minute. 

After an initial period of panic when Cordelia first announced the subject of her vision, a plan to rescue Buffy was soon formed. Cordelia said she saw Buffy in a cold dark place, somewhere underground and Angel claimed he knew where this would be. I was reluctant to follow him at first, to let him take over leadership of the group, so I put up an argument. It soon became clear, however, that nobody was going to listen to my protests, they had already all put their faith into Angel as being the only hope for Buffy's rescue. That made me mad, because how could they possibly trust a vampire over Buffy's own boyfriend? Surely I have a greater interest in her welfare than _him_. But there was nothing I could do except go along with his plan meekly.

Willow actually went over to Angel and put her hand on his arm, reassuring him that Buffy would be okay, that he'd manage to get to her in time and I just watched open mouthed. It was like I didn't belong again, like everyone had forgotten I even exist. I just felt totally excluded from the group, something that was pretty alien to me. I'd always been popular in high school, captain of the football team and that sort of thing. Then when I was in the army I was always the group leader, in charge of everyone else. And now not only was I not in control, I was barely even involved. So, I tried to push my way back in, to get people to listen to me, to help in anyway I could. 

I suggested that I should go and rescue Buffy alone – I could handle Spike, I'd managed to capture him before, hadn't I? Angel would be needed to stop the demons' ritual to end the earth. There was a collective silence at this reminder that there were problems facing us other than Buffy's disappearance. But Angel refused to let me go alone and we got into a fight about it. He actually had the nerve to suggest I wouldn't be able to save Buffy on my own. I would do anything to help her, anything in my power and I don't need some _vampire_ telling me what I can and cannot do. Eventually, Tara separated us with magic and it was decided that all the girls and the British guy would go to the old high school and see what they could do to stop or delay the ritual without actually tackling the demons head on. Then hopefully Angel and I would return with Buffy in time to fight the physical battle and everything would work out all right. And I never for a moment thought that it wouldn't. 

**Angel:**

I wish Riley would stop shining that flashlight in my face. If it had just been me on my own I could have seen perfectly well in the dark without it. Then we might even have been able to surprise Spike by our arrival – as it is he's bound to hear Riley's clumping feet a mile off. I don't know why I had to bring him, I would have had a much better chance at rescuing Buffy coming on my own. But he insisted, he wanted to be the hero, to come rushing in to save her and there was nothing – short of knocking him unconscious and tying him up (which did cross my mind admittedly) – I could do to stop him. I keep telling myself that there must be some good in him, that if Buffy loves him then he must be worthy of it. I can't help letting jealousy and resentment cloud my perception of him, though. And I suppose the fact that he hates me unequivocally isn't exactly helping build good relations between us. 

I know Riley feels threatened by me. I can sense his nervousness whenever he's around me, though that could be more due to the fact that I beat him up the last time we met than any worries he may have about the stability of his relationship with Buffy. I'd like to say I regret fighting with Riley that time and I do really – or at least part of me does. I feel ashamed that I let personal feelings get in the way when I came only to smooth the way over with Buffy. It was like how she let her animosity towards Faith control her actions when she came to LA allegedly to help me. Neither of us seem to behave rationally around the other, which is why it's a good thing that we're separated now, I guess. 

We have so much history, so much pain, love and heartache, that no meeting between us could ever just be brief and business-like. We can never be friends. I think Spike told us that once, which is kind of ironic considering the circumstances now. If Spike has hurt Buffy in any way then I will stake him. I'll regret having to do it – it's always difficult having to kill one of your childer – but he's really left me with no choice. I know this is personal between him and me, between him and Buffy even. Maybe that's why I don't want Riley to be here – this is family business. Spike has betrayed his Blood and now he must suffer the consequences. In part the force that drives me on down these caves is not worry over Buffy, but the traces of Angelus left in me, the dominant Master vampire coming to discipline his way-ward grand-childe. 

William knew the rules – he knew not to touch Buffy – and yet he still flaunts them in my face. The anger and outrage at this burns inside of me. And yet I also feel a kind of admiration. My soul is weighed down by guilt over the harsh way I treated Spike when I was Angelus. And the fact that he is taking a stand against me now, the way in which he is refusing to be cowed by my authority any longer, almost makes me feel proud of him. All these conflicting emotions may seem strange, but they're just a side effect of having both a soul and a demon inside me. My psyche is so complex, even I don't understand it sometimes. There are some basic feelings, however, that are so obvious and strong that I cannot help but act upon them. I know I deserve any suffering Spike could possibly visit upon me, but Buffy does not. I can't let Spike hurt her, and no matter what lingering affections I may feel for him, he must die for this. Touch the woman I love and the only punishment is death.

We are getting closer now, I remember these tunnels and I am beginning to vaguely feel the presence of both Buffy and Spike. He has her down here, I am sure of it. I think I catch a faint sound reverberating through the air and I stop dead, trying to listen. Riley barrels straight into the back of me.

"What the matter?" He asks.

"Shush, I'm trying to listen."

He cocks his head to one side. "I can hear anything."

"Neither will I be able to if you don't shut up," I growl back at him, trying to hold perfectly still and let the sound come to me. One advantage of being a vampire is that you're never distracted by the workings of your own body, you can just melt into the background and let every tiny detail of the surroundings wash over you.

The sound comes again, louder this time, a definite scream coming from ahead of us. Buffy. Losing all pretence of calm I sprint off in the direction of the noise, dragging a confused Riley behind me. The screams get louder as we get closer and I think I make out individual words. _Help. No. _Riley stops dead a couple of steps back down the tunnel, leaning against the wall, a haunted look on his face. I hesitate, twisting around to see what was the matter. If he isn't up to this, then I don't want him getting in my way. 

"What's wrong now?" I snap in a low urgent voice.

"I heard it," he replies. "I heard _her_. He's hurting Buffy isn't he?" Riley's eyes are wide and frightened and I realise he doesn't want to have to see it, Buffy injured and bleeding. To him she is perfect, infallible – she is always the strong one, the one doing the rescuing. The idea that she could be vulnerable or a victim is just an anathema to him. I grab hold of his arm and pull him roughly along with me. If he and Buffy are ever going to have a future together then he's going to have to take her off that pedestal – starting now. 

"If he isn't, he will be soon," I hiss. "Now, come on!"

Riley's flashlight has fallen to the ground where it creates eerie shadows against the stone walls of the tunnel. The light and the shadows both fade into the distance, however, as I keep running towards the sound of Buffy's screaming. I keep hold of Riley's arm, guiding him through the pitch-black darkness, my supernatural senses on full alert. Soon I see a pinprick of light in the distance and I know we are close, though I cannot hear Buffy any longer, which is probably a bad sign. I slow my run to a brisk walking pace and whisper in Riley's ear.

"It's not far now – stay behind me and try to keep as quiet as you can."

He opens his mouth to say something but I deliberately ignore him, dropping his arm and continuing ahead of him, keeping my footsteps light and silent. I even abandon my automatic trait of breathing, so as to make as little noise as possible. Cordelia calls this going into 'stealth-mode', something I am well practised at. I just wish Riley were too. 

As we near the cave I begin to sense an opening in the earth, like a weight is being lifted from around me. Fresh air blows against my face and the claustrophobic feeling from the narrow tunnels diminishes. An idea forming, I push Riley in front of me. There is no way I could creep up on Spike with the amount of noise Riley has been making. But maybe I can get Spike to believe, just for a moment, that Riley is the only one mounting the rescue operation, then ambush the other vampire just as he is least expecting it. It is a long shot, but better than just storming in with no plan. 

"You go first," I instruct the boy. "Try to help Buffy, but don't take on Spike – he'll only kill you."

Riley eyes me sceptically. "What are you going to do?"

I reach into my deep jacket pocket for a stake and test its sharpness with the tip of my finger. "Try to surprise him," I answer, half listening to the voices coming from the cave. I can hear Spike now, his tone dangerous and jeering, the words spoken too quietly for me to make out. What really worries me, however, is the absence of any response from Buffy.

I push Riley out of the shadows in the tunnel and into the flickering firelight that illuminates the caves entrance. "Go!" I hiss. 

He flashes me an uncertain look and then makes up his mind, puffing up his chest and trying to project a confidence it is obvious he doesn't feel. He rounds the corner out of my sight and undoubtedly into Spike's and I crouch down in the shadows to wait, counting to five hundred in my head before following Riley into the fray. 

**End of Part Five**

_To be continued…_


	6. Save

CHAPTER SIX

_A/N ~ _I was having a dark angsty moment throughout much of this, so sorry for any questionable content. Normal services will be resumed shortly *g*. 

chapter six

**Buffy:**

Spike is whispering in my ear. Whispering things I'd really rather not hear, things that make bile rise in my throat, things about me and him together, but there's blood and pain and I can't remember ever feeling this sick and afraid. I try to block it out. Think happy thoughts. Okay, waking up on Christmas morning when I was a kid and rushing downstairs to open my presents. Dad carries Dawn on his shoulders and we all go out for ice cream, because we live in LA and Christmas is warm and sticky, not cold and snowy like in all the movies.

I've only ever known one cold Christmas and that was…wait. These are supposed to be happy thoughts, good memories, not heartbreaking ones. So, Riley. Riley and I going for picnics in the park. Except we only did that once. Umm, Riley and I going to the movies. Did you know he has salt on his popcorn? I like mine drenched in butter and sugar, so that when you eat it your fingers get covered in grease. It wouldn't be the movies if you didn't stuff yourself with junk food while you're watching the film. And-

_Oww! _Spike's fangs dig into my shoulder and I think tears come to my eyes. How can he be doing this to me? How did this even happen? I actually _trusted_ the guy. I mean I didn't realise it up until he broke that trust, but I thought I could rely on him, I guess I even considered him a friend. The thing about Spike – neutered, post-chip Spike, I mean – is that he's annoying, maxi-ram-his-head-through-a-brick-wall-annoying, but he's also sort of likeable. He's got this way of seeing everything exactly how it is and he's not afraid to be honest. Plus, he's got a great sense of humour. So many times I've had to bite my lip to stop laughing at his jokes when I'm supposed to hate him. 

I did hate him at one point – obviously – and then I started to feel a little sorry for him. He was like Angel in a way: lonely, outcast from vampire society, fighting demons because that's the only thing left in his life. So, I suppose I let my guard down around him. I started to believe that maybe he'd changed. I stopped seeing him as a threat and more of an ally. When I came to see him this afternoon I really thought that he was upset, that by threatening to stake him I'd crossed a boundary in our burgeoning friendship. How wrong can one person get?

Now the worst thing about this whole experience (well not quite the worst thing – I think that prize goes to the lurid suggestions Spike is currently making so enthusiastically) is the harsh sting of betrayal. It's like Angelus all over again, except not quite as bad because it's without the crushing loss of the person I love. But it definitely brings back memories of that time – their hard eyes and cruel sneers are the same. It's strange, in these past twelve months when I've known Spike with a chip and he's helped us, I've looked into his eyes a lot. They never seemed empty then, even though he didn't have a soul. They were always filled with some emotion – anger or pain or amusement. Now they are just blank, like something's snapped inside him. Then again, maybe it has. Angel's demon was damaged by one hundred years of sharing a body with his soul, so perhaps Spike's demon has been twisted in the same way because of his chip. I just know that something has gone horribly wrong, because even the evil Spike I knew before, the one who tried to rule Sunnydale with Drusilla, even he wouldn't have behaved like this.

Long, fingers rip my clothes and dance over my flesh. They feel horrible – cold and dead. I try to shut the sensations out as Spike's mouth – fangs and all – moves downwards from my shoulder. I won't scream anymore for fear of what he might do. I am realistic enough to know that he has me completely at his mercy here. He could kill me or he could do a lot worse. Personally I'm hoping for a quick death. Exsanguination from the neck, something clean and relatively painless. It didn't hurt when Angel drank my blood, not after the initial pinprick of his fangs going in. In fact it was kind of nice, my head started to spin and then I saw stars. I just felt more and more tired, until eventually I fell unconscious in his arms. If I could choose a way to die then that would be how. 

But I don't get to choose. What I get is rivulets of my own blood running over my bare skin and Spike's rough tongue licking them off. He tried to get me to beg earlier, but I wouldn't. I fought and I swore and I screamed, but I refused to beg. It wouldn't have changed anything, anyway. Now I've just resigned myself to whatever happens. I'm just trying to ignore what's happening to my physical body and revert to life inside my head. Hence, the happy thoughts. I was at the movies, right? The movies with Riley. We're seeing a comedy, something like _American Pie_, and he blushes at all the rude jokes, which is kind of endearing in a backwater, country-boy kind of way. Then Riley…

_Walks in here? _Am I just seeing things or is that really Riley standing there on the other side of the cave, looking ever so slightly petrified out of his mind?

"Buffy," he gasps incredulously, his eyes wide at the disturbing sight I must be, stripped to my bra and covered in my own blood. Spike quickly diverts his attention away from my chained form and begins to bear down upon my current boyfriend. 

"Riley!" I yell back, suddenly afraid for his safety more than mine. How did he find me here? What on earth possessed him to come alone? 

He swallows deeply and nervously. "It's all right," he tries to reassure me. "You're going to be okay." He pulls a stake out of his belt and brandishes it in Spike's direction. "Let her go or you're dust," he orders in a not very convincing tone.

Spike merely snorts at this, rushing at Riley and slamming him, face-forward, up against the cave wall, his stake-arm twisted at a painful angle behind his back. 

"Now, I don't think you're exactly in a position to threaten me, do you?"

The only sound that comes from Riley is a small whimper as Spike continues to pull at his arm. "Where is he?" The vampire demands, pulling Riley away from the wall then smashing him back into it again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Riley splutters through a mouthful of blood from his broken nose. 

"Yes you do," Spike insists, dropping Riley disdainfully to the floor. "Angelus wouldn't dare leave his beloved Buffy down here to die – so I'm guessing he's got to be around here somewhere." He strides back over to me a flick-knife suddenly appearing in his hand. "And I know just what'll make him come running."

Spike holds the knife above my flesh, about to cut in, when a voice echoes from the shadowy entrance to the cave. "I don't think you want to do that."

_Angel. _He came. For the first time in what seems like hours I actually feel a spark of hope that I will get out of this alive. Relief floods through my body and I feel the tension and fear draining out of me. Everything is going to be okay again. 

"Why not?" Spike demands, his knife still pressing into my flesh, not quite cutting me, and I remember that before I can just leave there is going to be a fight. Angel and Spike are Blood, they've known one another for over one hundred years and now they're going to fight to the death, over me. The prospect is awe-inspiring and utterly terrifying. 

"Because if you do I'm going to kill you." Angel inches closer. "No wait, scratch that. I'm going to kill you, anyway."

Spike moves the knife up to my throat and my pulse rate begins to soar. I know Angel won't let anything happen to me, but it's going to be a pretty close call. "Just think," Spike grins broadly. "One little slip with this knife and it could be bye-bye Buffy. Wouldn't want that now would we?"

Angel blanches slightly at the prospect, but his hard, impassive expression soon returns. Pacing round thoughtfully for a few moments he suddenly turns to Spike with Angelus' trademark smirk on his face. "How's Drusilla? Heard from her recently?"

The knife drops from Spike's hand and falls to the floor with a metallic clatter. Spike's attention is distracted from me and on to Angel. "You know bloody well how she is," he says in a low dangerous tone. 

"Better off without you, anyway," Angel provokes him and that is the last straw for Spike. The two vampires fly at one another, fists flailing, eventually falling to the ground to wrestle with each other. Riley stares open-mouthed at their display for a few seconds, before hurrying over to unchain me. He gives me his jacket to cover myself and then ushers me in the direction he came from.

"I'm not leaving Angel," I insist, glancing over towards my ex-lover where he is now stood head-to-head with Spike, each daring the other to make the next move. A bit shaky on my feet, but still feeling capable of fighting I hurry over to the warring pair and catch Spike by surprise with a blow to the head. He reels backwards and I follow up with a kick to his stomach, Angel producing a stake to back me up with. Sensing he is outmatched, Spike turns tail and flees down one of the tunnels, his pounding footsteps echoing away into the distance. 

"Aren't you going after him?" Riley asks.

Angel shakes his head. "Those tunnels are like a labyrinth. We could wonder about for days and never find him. Besides we have to be getting back to the others. They'll need our help to stop the ritual."

_Oh my God. _I suddenly remember what is meant to be going on this evening. I was supposed to be preventing the apocalypse and instead this happens. And if Angel and I – the two warriors of the group – are both down here, then who is at the high school trying to stop the demons? I suddenly feel very dizzy. My vision fades to black and my feet disappear from underneath me. The last thing I am aware of before I pass out completely is a pair of strong arms breaking my fall. And at this point I don't even care whose they are. 

**Willow:**

I sit on the steps of the old high school looking out into the night. Except I don't see darkness and shadows, burnt buildings and rubble – I see sunshine and students, the hustle and bustle of life here as I remember it. I used to sit on these steps a lot, just watching the people go by, wishing I was a part of their busy social lives, that I fitted in with them. That time seems a world away now. I am a different person with a different life. I'm not Willow the computer nerd anymore. I found friends and love, and I've seen and done things I'd never even dreamed of. But I'm still here sitting on these steps. For all my accomplishments I still failed. 

Tara comes and sits down next to me. She leans her head against my shoulder briefly and I feel her silky hair against my cheek. Sometimes I wonder how it is possible we are even together. When did it happen? How did my life get to this point? I love her but I can't explain how or why, and she loves me back, which I understand even less. I never saw our relationship coming – I just woke up one morning and it was there. But then I never saw any of this coming. 

"It's not your fault," Tara tells me softly, taking my hand in hers. "You did everything that you could."

I shake my head. "No, there must have been something else. I didn't think quickly enough. I let Buffy down. I let everybody down."

I drop my head into my hands, fighting back tears, while Tara strokes my back comfortingly. When I look up again it is to the sky. The night is clear and crisp and the stars are out. They shine like they always have. The whole world goes on like nothing has happened, completely oblivious to the monumental events of the evening. It's difficult to accept how normal it all seems when nothing will ever be normal again. _Oh God, all those people. Millions upon millions. They don't even know what's happening, what's going to happen. They won't ever know…_

"There was nothing else." Tara reassures me. "Nothing you could have thought of or done. Nothing that any of us could have done."

I turn to her with wide, stricken eyes. "What are we going to do?"

"I-I don't know, honey," she replies, showing her first sign of uncertainty. The tears brimming in my eyes spill over down my cheeks and I pull Tara close to me, savouring the precious warmth of her embrace, burying my face in her hair.

The sound of voices startles me and I look up, wiping my face with my sleeve, to see Buffy, Angel and Riley approaching in the distance. I am so glad to see her, to see that she's all right and that Spike didn't hurt her. Then my stomach goes hollow and I choke back a sob as I realise I am going to have to break the news to Buffy and I don't know how. As she draws closer I get a second shock. She looks awful, nothing like her usual calm, collected and impeccably beautiful self. Her face is pale, her hair is a tangled mess, dried blood streaks down her neck and she looks tiny dressed up in Riley's bulky army jacket. Her expression is bleak as she walks towards us, Riley hovering protectively next to her, Angel giving away nothing as per usual. 

"Are they here yet?" She asks with a grim determination.

"I don't think you should be fighting," Riley protests. "You're in no condition-"

"I don't really have much choice!" She snaps back, moving to push past me.

"Wait!" I call after her. "There…there isn't going to be any fight."

"What do you mean?" Asks Angel, his voice soft and low with a hint of worry.

"Did you stop the ritual already?" Buffy interjects.

"N-not exactly."

"Well then what?" She demands. "They can't have gone ahead with it, because I think I would have noticed if the world ended."

All eyes are on me and I turn pale under their scrutiny. "T-the demons came. There was about ten of them. We tried to use magic to keep them back, but we couldn't. We…they came after us and we had to go and hide – there were too many to fight…" I trail off and Tara touches my hand briefly, taking up the story herself.

"Willow was really great, she came up with this spell. I-it delays the effects of the ritual by seven days."

"I'm sorry," I whisper in a pained voice. "There was nothing else."

"What, you're saying you actually let the demons complete their plans?" Riley interrupts, his tone panicked. "So, the world is really going to end?"

I nod wordlessly, fresh tears coursing down my cheeks. How could this even happen? We've always been okay before, usually it all works out. What went wrong this time?

Buffy reaches out to brush my arm reassuringly, her face even paler than two minutes ago. "It's all right, Will," she murmurs. "I know you did your best."

"Where are the others?" Angel enquires.

"Inside," I gesture vaguely with my hand, not having the will to explain further.

He nods briefly. "We should all get home, get some sleep. There's nothing more to be done here. We can talk more in the morning."

A warm bed and a good night's sleep sounds wonderful, but I don't know if I'm going to be able to face either. I'm not sure if I'll ever actually sleep again. I keep replaying the moment in my head, the high pitched chanting of the demons, Wesley leafing desperately through books, Tara pressed up close next to me in the shadows. Cordelia and Anya threw some large rocks at the demons, some last ditch attempt to distract their attention. It worked for a while, they came chasing after us and we were running furiously, for our own lives, for the lives of everyone on the planet. Tara and I desperately cast murmured spells, any we could remember (I think I turned one demon into a houseplant and set another on fire) until we were too out of breath to do so any longer. Eventually, the demons gave up the chase and went back to their ritual. Defeated, we could only watch from a distance and hope that Buffy showed up in time. 

She didn't, and at the last minute I did the only thing I could think of. I muttered the words of a delaying spell, which created a week's buffer between the performance of the ritual and the results it will bring about. The spell is a common one in Wicca, used for the pure convenience sake of casting magic in advance. I knew it would only buy us a little bit of time, but compared to imminent death it seemed like a good idea. Now I'm not so sure, now we're faced with an entire seven days of just waiting to die. I've faced some pretty horrible things in my life, but this has to be the worst. The demons even thought they had failed, that we'd stopped them somehow. They tried to find us to get their revenge, but we hid (about the only think we managed to do successfully all night) and came out after they'd gone. 

The group reunites, only we have very little to say to one another. The 'sleep on it' plan is our generally agreed mode of action, basically because there is nothing else we can do. We head back to Giles' en masse, the atmosphere tense and heavy, the mood depressed. Arriving back at the house we all pile out of our various cars, me leading the way because I have his keys. These little rituals are all so mundane and ordinary it makes me want to scream. We only have a week left to live, we should be out there making the most of life while we can. We should be crying, laughing, having fun, making love, doing all the things we always meant to and never found the time for. We should be doing anything but trudging around bleakly with dazed expressions on our faces. 

As I go to slide the key into the door I hear the familiar shrill of the phone ringing inside. Quickly fumbling to open the door I rush in to answer the phone. The doorknob feels a little sticky in my hand, but I ignore it, stepping into the darkened house to grab the phone receiver.

"Hello?"

It is the hospital, calling about Giles. I glance out the window at the others who are busy unloading weapons from the cars and talking in hushed voices amongst themselves. I decide not to bother them until I know what's going on for sure. I don't think Buffy could take anymore bad news this evening. I listen carefully to the caller's litany of medical information. Details of blood pressures and respiratory rates and Glasgow Coma Scales pass me entirely by. Usually I would be soaking in all this material like a sponge. Medicine has always fascinated me. It is a field where so much of a difference can be made. Lives can be saved or lost. People's pain can be taken away from them. I used to think a lot about becoming a doctor, never going to happen now I guess.

The voice on the other end of the phone reaches the crux of the call and I have to ask him to repeat it, I was so distracted. Giles is awake. He's out of the coma he fell into on the night of the fire, forty-eight hours and a lifetime ago. He should be okay – no lasting damage – and we can go and see him tomorrow. Great, we can go and see Giles and break it to him gently that the world is ending because we couldn't manage to stop it. What will he say, I wonder. Will he be disappointed, upset, angry? Would things have been different if he'd been here to help? 

I thank the doctor and he rings off. In a virtual trance I wonder outside to break the 'good' news to everyone else. Giles is going to live, only to be killed with the rest of us in a week's time. Angel turns as I approach, a puzzled expression on his face. 

"Willow, how did you get that blood on your hand?"

I look down at my palm and sure enough it is stained a bright red colour. I shake my head. "I don't…I don't know. I remember touching something a bit wet…"

Angel's shoots me a worried glance and then strides past me into Giles' house. Buffy and the others see him go and we all follow, not really worried, but more intrigued. I am the second or third person through the door and I have a perfect view when Angel flicks on the light switch revealing the blood stained walls and floor. I gasp in shock. There seems to be red everywhere, and to think I was standing here just a minute ago, talking on the phone in the dark, completely oblivious. 

I hear a scream from beside me and Cordelia bursts into tears. She clings to Wesley who has turned white as a sheet and leans against the wall for support. I follow the line of their vision to the centre of the room, where a crumpled body lies in a pool of its own blood. The face is obscured, but Cordy's reaction is enough to tell me whom the corpse belongs to. 

"Gunn," Angel says in a low hollow voice. 

End of Part Six 

_A/N ~ _Oops, sorry about the character death, but I just couldn't pass up the opportunity for such a dramatic moment. I know things look dire at the moment (Spike evil, Gunn dead, the imminent end of the world), but I am headed for a happy ending, so stick with it and I promise to cheer things up in the long run. Thank you for reading!


	7. Anger

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN 

**Buffy: **

** **

****My breath catches in my throat and I find it difficult to believe that the crumpled mess in the middle of the room, lying in a pool of blood so dark it almost black, is actually a person. A person I was speaking to just a couple of hours ago. A person who was a friend to several of the people in this room. A friend of Angel's. 

I wrench my gaze away from Gunn's body to look over to Angel. His expression is one of pure shock, turning quickly to intense rage. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, his eyes flash slightly gold and his mouth tightens in a hard line. 

"Spike," he mutters with undisguised venom.

"But it doesn't look like a vampire attack," Riley interrupts. "He hasn't been bitten."

Angel shakes his head, still keeping his eyes fixed on the puddle of blood in the centre of the carpet. "This wasn't about feeding, this was about revenge." He finally looks away, turning and striding out of Giles' house, kicking the front door hard enough to knock it off its hinges in the process.

"Angel…" A distraught Cordelia calls after him, but he ignores her. 10 yards away, he stops abruptly, his back turned from the group, his shoulders hunched and his posture tense. I automatically start towards him, to comfort him, my heart aching in the wake of his pain. But Riley puts a restraining hand on my arm, stopping me. 

I turn on him, annoyed and confused. "What?"

"Just leave him alone, Buffy." Riley begs me uncertainly. "You saw how angry he is."

"You actually believe he's going to hurt me?" I whisper incredulously. "His friend's just been killed – he needs someone right now."

"That doesn't mean it has to be you," Riley replies. "He has other people in his life – what about Cordelia or Wesley?"

"Do you really think either of them are in any state to help Angel at the moment?" I hiss back. "They're barely coping themselves." I look over to them and see that it is true. Cordy sits collapsed in the grass, her head in her hands, Willow and Tara trying to offer some comfort. Wesley has disappeared off a few metres away and is busy retching over Giles' shrubbery. Our group is a disjointed mess, torn apart by too much tragedy in too short a time.

Ignoring Riley, I start to go towards Angel again, but this time he grabs my hand roughly, vestiges of anger starting to show in his eyes. "Buffy…" he warns.

I shake him off easily. "I don't have time for your jealousy now, Riley." I say with significant anger of my own. "Now, please will you just leave, this is none of your business."

I don't even stop to see if he accedes to my request, my only focus now being Angel. I hurry over to him, touching him lightly on the back and feeling some of the tension seep out of him as I do so. I look up into his frighteningly blank face and tears well in my eyes.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, brushing his cheek lightly with my finger. "I really am sorry."

His features seem to collapse in on themselves as his resolve finally crumbles. "Oh, Buffy…" he murmurs, burying his face in my neck. I wrap my arms tightly around him, wanting him to have any small measure of comfort I can offer, wanting to make everything better. His knees buckle and, as one, we fall to the ground, Angel's body shaking with silent sobs as I rock him soothingly in my embrace.

Spike is going to pay for doing this. And that's not just a threat – it's a promise.

**Anya:**

Everyone is crying and I can't make them stop. They should have stopped by now, shouldn't they? I didn't know humans' eyes could leak that much fluid. It's like on the cartoons Xander enjoys watching, where the character gets holes poked in him then he drinks a glass of water and it spurts out everywhere. Only that's funny and this is only sad. And I don't like sad things, they make me feel all unpleasant inside. It's much better to be happy, happy and having sex. I wish Xander were here, he would make everything okay again, he would get them to stop.

People are saying that Spike did this and I'm not sure how that could be possible. I liked Spike, he always said what he thought. He wasn't like all the rest of them who pretend that they like each other and that everything is going to be fine, when clearly it isn't. Humans lie so much. They hide their real feelings inside of them and try to project false ones that they think will make other humans like them better. 

I won't do that. I won't say anything that I don't mean. I think everybody should be honest with one another – it makes things so much simpler. If these people don't like me for who I am then I'll find some others who do. After all there are six billion humans on the planet – it's not like I'm short of any choice. But Xander seems to be attached to these ones, so I have to stay with them. I keep telling him he should find some new friends who don't expect him to risk his life all the time, but he says he wants to help save the world and that I don't understand. 

He's right. I don't understand so many things. In a whole millennium of being a vengeance demon I never faced anything as complicated or as difficult as being human. Back then it was easy; I would just wish boils or blinding torment or death by elephant stampede onto some unsuspecting male then I'd disappear off to exact some more revenge. I was never around for the consequences or the regrets. But now my whole life is a tangle of confused emotions. I cannot say or do or think anything, without worrying about what will happen in response. Now it's not just other hearts that can be broken, it's my own as well. 

I am petrified that something will happen to Xander, because then I will be alone and I can't face that. I was alone when I was first turned human and it was the worst experience of my life. I was helpless and empty and everything appeared unfathomable and scary. Xander helps make sense of things. He's special and his friends don't seem to get that. I try to tell them, but they don't listen when I say how important Xander is. He must be, because when I see him my stomach gets butterflies in it and when he touches me my skin goes all tingly. And when he's not here I wish he were. That has to mean something, right? Something extraordinary about Xander that I see and nobody else does. 

People are still scattered around sobbing and I don't know what to do. The more they cry, the more I feel like joining in with them and it's just another thing I don't understand. I didn't even know the dead person, we just met last night and I didn't even like him. He was rude, noisy and arrogant and he spoke strangely. And I never cry, I hate crying – it makes your eyes go all red and puffy. What good does crying do, anyway? It doesn't make you feel better, it just makes you worse. And it doesn't make the problem go away. It's such a silly human behavioural trait. And yet, I find I can't help myself joining in with it. 

**Cordelia: **

** **

****Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing here, why my life is filled with darkness and demons when it should be California sunshine and Hollywood parties. I'm not the Slayer; this isn't my sacred birthright. I didn't used to be a demon or an evil soulless monster and I have no redemption to seek. So, why must I face so much death and despair? How did I end up with these people and in this situation? I suppose I like helping people, it feels good to make a difference in their lives. I can even forgive the visions, because the little bit of pain I experience every so often is nothing compared to what the people I see are going through. And I care about Angel. I want him to have his _shanshu_, I want him to start to forgive himself and be able finally find some happiness. He is my family now. Him and Wesley – and Gunn. 

I'd never really seen death until Doyle died. I'd led such a sheltered existence up until then. Sheltered in the sense of vampires and demons jumping out of every shadow at me, but I still never actually truly realised the threat they posed. When I was in high school it was all kind of like a game that I never took very seriously. I mean, we always won the battle against evil, so much so that I became convinced that it would never be any different. I saw horrible things. I saw strangers suffer. I saw Angel become Angelus and I witnessed Buffy's heartbreak. I was even there when Ms Calendar died. But it never really hit me. It was always other people's pain, someone else's problem. It never actually seemed _real _until Doyle died then suddenly everything came home to me. This is life and death we are dealing with. The stakes are as high as they can be and there is nothing to stop us losing it all. 

When Doyle was killed I grew up. A lot. I stopped being Queen C, shallow and superficial. Some of my dreams of being a famous actress even slipped away. Back then it had seemed a certainty. Hang with Angel for a while until my inevitable stardom kicked in. But all at once the foundation for my life was kicked away and everything seemed more uncertain, the future more frightening. I was lucky. I had good friends to help me through, friends who shared my pain and who knew what to say and what to do. I got over Doyle. The hurt faded a little more each day, until eventually I'd forgotten how sharp it was in the first place.

Now I remember. The memories come flooding back in bright Technicolor and Dolby Surround Sound. The shock comes first, the denial that this is happening. It's so difficult to believe it's true. I only saw Gunn a couple of hours ago. He was so _alive _then. He was just his usual brash self. He and Buffy's dolt of a boyfriend (what has happened to that girl's taste in men?), Riley, got into a furious, impassioned fight, Angel pulled them apart, then Gunn stormed out. He said he was going for a walk and that he'd be back when the real action started happening. But he was late. We had to leave without him, in the rush and the panic, we forgot about him. He must have walked back straight into Spike's trap. I knew it was a bad idea to trust that vampire. But for once I wish I'd been wrong. 

Gunn doesn't deserve this end. He was impulsive and he was mixed up and he was filled with a burning rage at the world, but underneath it all he _cared_. He made out he was a tough guy – which he actually was, I guess – but really he was just another person who's struggling to get through life as best he can. He was just the same as all of us – lost, as hopeless as the people we try to help everyday. He needed us, we were his friends, his family, we were supposed to be there for him. And yet we let him die alone. He was only in Sunnydale because Angel asked him to come. He doesn't belong here, this wasn't his battle to fight, but he ended up a casualty of it anyway. It's just not fair. 

There is supposed to be an order to things. Our lives and our destinies are controlled by the Powers That Be. I've seen enough prophecies fulfilled to know this is fact. But the more I think about it, the more I've come to believe that fate is cruel. The PTB are supposed to be a force for good. They're supposed to stop the bad things from happening, but they seem to contribute to them more than anything else. Look at Angel. It was his destiny to meet Buffy and to guide her through her slaying – apparently he even had some stinky demon recruit him for the purpose. But then the Powers had to screw it all up for him. They made him fall in love with her, then they stepped in with that curse thingie and tore Angel and Buffy apart. Now he has to spend eternity with a broken heart, because he can never be together with the person he loves. 

As much as I pretend to dislike a lot of the people here and as much as I insult them, I still have a great respect for them all and everything they do. Especially Buffy. She never asked to be the Slayer. She didn't volunteer for the job, she just got landed with it. But she does it, anyway. She works her ass off to kill the demons and protect the innocent and save the world. She's been to hell and back – literally – and she still fights on, not because she hasn't got a choice, but because she wants to. She actually believes in what she's doing. Everyone gathered here in this little group tries so hard and cares so much, and yet still they get dumped on from a great height. Did I say it wasn't fair? Well, I was wrong – it's beyond unfair. It sucks on a titanic scale and there's not a damn thing we can do to change it. 

I don't want to be in the middle of this darkness any longer. I don't want to watch the rest of my friends being wounded and dying one by one. I don't want to see broken bodies and blood stained walls. And if the world is going to end then that's not something I want to hear about. I miss being shallow and ignorant with nothing more to worry about than my date to junior prom. If this is growth and enlightenment then I wish I'd stayed small minded. I wish for anything that will take this pain away, because I can't deal with it anymore. 

**Angel:**

It's my fault. I shouldn't have brought Gunn here. I shouldn't have forgotten about him when I rushed off to save Buffy. I shouldn't have made Spike angry like that. In fact I shouldn't have Made Spike in the first place. I watched Drusilla do it. I watched her turn him and from that moment on he was my whipping boy. He was the one I abused, the one I vented my anger upon. Ultimately, I moulded him into the seething mass of resentment and pain he is today. So, who could possibly be to blame for this tragedy other than me?

In some ways I feel this is a desecration to Gunn's memory – for me just to distil my emotions about his death down into my standard feelings of guilt. Like I'm just classifying this atrocity alongside all the rest I've committed, as if his death is just one of the thousands of others on my conscience. But it's not. It's more than that. He was my friend, my ally. It's like losing Doyle again. I'm the warrior here. I'm the one with the strength and the debt to be paid to society. So, why is it always my right hand men, the people who selflessly agree to help, for no reason other than their strength of will and the good they have inside them, that must suffer the consequences of _my _actions. Again it's my fault. I hurt everyone who gets close to me. Anyone would think I was cursed or something. 

Of course thinking of grief and of curses drags my thoughts back around to Buffy. Buffy my fiery, golden Slayer, who has so much kindness and love in her heart and whom I have crushed so mercilessly in the past. Now she has her arms wrapped tightly around me, her warm body pressed up against mine. We were crying together for a long time and for a moment I forgot. As she wept for my pain I forgot that she doesn't belong to me anymore, that we aren't together and it is only for the sake of her caring nature and our past love that she comforts me now. Our hearts aren't joined now as they once were. My tears are no longer hers.

Remembering, I pull reluctantly away, struggling to sit up and look around me. Giles' front yard is empty and silent. The last thing I remember is it being full of people, shocked and grieving. Where did they all go and why did I not notice them leave?

"What happened to everyone?" I ask Buffy, my voice hoarse with disuse. 

She brushes a handful of hair out of her face, rubbing her red eyes tiredly. "I think they went home. Willow said Cordy and Wes were going to say with her and Tara."

I nod my head vaguely, glad that my two best friends are not alone right now. "And Riley?"

She shrugs. "I sent him away. He wasn't been much help right now, anyway."

"Buffy…" I admonish her with little enthusiasm. I am too emotionally drained right now to lecture her on how she shouldn't be pushing the man she loves away – not if she wants to hold on to her relationship with him. And of course, the fact that I actually secretly want them to break up doesn't exactly add strength to my argument. 

"He didn't need me, you did." She says matter-of-factly, looking straight into my eyes with that piercing, honest gaze, which takes me so vividly back to when she was sixteen and telling me that she didn't care what I was or what I'd done, she loved me anyway because she couldn't help it. 

I swallow deeply, suddenly nervous to be in her company, because my feelings are spilling over. I'm not sure I'll be able to resist the urge to kiss her much longer. "You shouldn't have to worry about what I need anymore," I tell her, climbing unsteadily to my feet and turning away. 

She grabs my arm abruptly, her skin burning mine even through the protective layers of my coat and shirt. I twist back around to look at her and see her face is flushed and her eyes are flashing with anger. For a second I think she is going to yell at me for my comment; that this moment is going to degenerate into another rerun of all the old pain and hurts. 

_("I can't believe you're breaking up with me!")_

_ _

_("I have someone in my life now – someone that I love. I trust him. I _know_ him.")_

Then her face softens and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. She smiles sadly. "Since when did I ever do anything I should where you were concerned?"

_("I wish I wished you dead, but I don't – I can't.")_

I don't say anything in response to this – what is there even to be said? So, we just stand there, facing one another, our history stretching out between us in the form of an awkward silence. Every kiss, every touch, every word I have ever heard her utter to me, every hurt, every tear that she cried: it all comes rushing back to be in that moment. And I am reminded violently, like a punch to the solar plexus, of how inevitable our love has always been. How inevitable and how impossible. 

She reaches over to graze my hand briefly with hers, like she wants to touch me but is afraid to, something I understand exactly. "Come home with me," she asks quietly and simply.

"What?" I reply, confused as to what exactly she wants from me.

"I'm living back with my Mom," she clarifies. "I just thought you shouldn't be on your own tonight. And you can't stay here, now, after…" she trails off, gesturing towards Giles' house where I slept last night. 

"I can find a motel room," I insist, but Buffy is having none of it. 

"Angel, your friend just died, the end of the world is imminent and I'm not letting you stay in some skanky motel room to brood alone. Either you come with me or I'm going with you. And I don't think the two of us together, alone in a motel all night is a very good idea, do you?"

She means it as a joke but it falls completely flat as the serious basis to her point hangs in the air between us. There is another tense silence, during which we try desperately to look anywhere but at each other. Eventually I speak.

"I'm still not sure this is a good-"

"Just stop arguing and come with me," she interrupts, yawning widely. "I would like to get _some_ sleep sometime this evening."

Suddenly realising how tired I am myself, I lose all will to protest with her and let her lead me over to the car. Vague worries nag at the back of my mind over how Joyce – and Dawn, for that matter – will react to this. But by now I don't really have the energy left to care, and neither has Buffy, apparently, as she is already asleep on my shoulder when I start the engine of the car and begin the short and reassuringly familiar drive to her house. 

End of Part Seven 

__

_A/N ~ _Gosh, I didn't end on a cliffhanger – I must be losing my touch *g*. Thanks for reading and for all the great reviews. See ya next time…

****


	8. Confessions

CHAPTER EIGHT

_A/N ~ _Warning: B/A mush ahead! J

CHAPTER EIGHT 

**Buffy:**

The sound of voices wakes me and I stretch out languidly, cursing the sun for rising on another day. I hate mornings with a passion usually only reserved for such evil fiends that try to attack my friends. With this thought, suddenly all my memories the past few days come rushing back to me and my stomach seems to sink like I just swallowed a lead weight. What other fun happenings could today possibly have in store?

I start to crawl back under the covers, determined to go back to sleep and put off facing the world for just a little bit longer, when the voices that woke me begin to take form. I register a man and a woman, obviously arguing. My eyes flick open, some of the fuzz in my head clears and I try to listen. _Mom and Angel. _Damn.

Jumping out of bed and heading, barefoot, in the direction of the noise I start to be able to make out what exactly they are saying. 

"I'm very sorry, Mrs Summers." Angel is trying to placate her. "But I can assure you that absolutely _nothing _happened between Buffy and I last night. I just needed somewhere to stay and she said I could sleep on your sofa."

"I thought we had an agreement!" Mom shouts back, confusing me slightly. What agreement? When did she ever talk to Angel before? I pause on the stairs to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"We did," Angel answers. "And I understand your argument perfectly. I just came to help Buffy with some slaying business. Then I'll be returning to LA. You have no reason to be concerned, honestly."

"I was under the impression you had followed my advice and had left Buffy for good." 

_What? Her advice? _What are they talking about, anyway, and why am I suddenly getting the feeling I am very much out of the loop on this subject?

"Buffy has moved on, you do realise," Mom continues, lowering her voice slightly. "She has a nice young man, who can give her a proper life. She doesn't need you ruining things for her."

"I have no intention of-"

"I want you to stay away from my daughter. You've done nothing but hurt her."

"Mom!" I cannot stand by and listen any longer and instead rush into the lounge to confront them. "What the Hell is going on?"

"Buffy!" I am greeted by two surprised expressions. 

"Explanation please," I demand, turning on Mom. "What agreement were you talking about and what 'advice' exactly did you give Angel?"

Mom just looks at me guiltily, unwilling to say anything, so instead I face Angel and subject him to the same angry stare. "Well?"

He shifts uncomfortably. "I really think this is something you should discuss with your mother."

"What's going on?" A small, eager voice comes from the doorway and I twist round to see Dawn standing there, looking far too interested in our argument for her own good.

"Nothing. Now get out!" I snap. 

"Are you getting back together with Angel?" She asks, her eyes wide. 

"It's none of your business!"

"Dawn, just go get ready for school honey," Mom interjects.

"It's a Saturday," she protests.

"Then go and watch some cartoons or something," I order her. "Just go somewhere that isn't here."

"Fine," she pouts, backing out the room. "Nobody ever tells me anything in this house."

"I think I know exactly how she feels," I turn back to Mom. "This is something I have a right to know about, don't you think?"

"All right," Mom sighs. "I didn't want you to find out about this, because I knew it would only just upset you. But back when you were still together with Angel, I went to see him to…discuss your future."

"When was this?"

"Um, around about the time of your senior prom."

Suddenly events of a year and a half ago start to become much clearer. Angel deciding to leave me out of the blue. Mom being oh so sympathetic about it. The way he tried to avoid letting me know he was here on Thanksgiving. "You made him break up with me, didn't you?" I ask in a low, dangerous tone. "You went to the person I love most in the world and you persuaded him to leave me." I gradually raise my voice, until I am shouting. "How could you? You're supposed to be my mother; you're supposed to care about my happiness!"

"I do care," she protests. "That's why I did this. It was the best thing for everyone concerned. See how much happier you are now with Riley."

I just stare at her incredulously, totally unable to believe that not only is she not apologising on bended knee for deliberately breaking my heart, but that she also actually thinks she did me a favour. "Forget it, Mom, just forget it," I mutter, turning around to storm out of the lounge and running back up the stairs to my bedroom. 

I lie on the bed, still in my pyjamas, staring up at the ceiling, until I hear the sound of the front door slamming then I get up and peer between the closed drapes out the window. Mom and Dawn climb in the car and drive off, probably on a shopping trip to the mall or something. Dawn's been begging to go for ages and I can only guess she used the whole 'Angel incident' as an excuse to persuade Mom what a great idea a shopping spree is. 

Once the car is out of sight, I go back to lying on the bed, patiently waiting for the sounds of heavy footfalls on the stairs and soft knocking on my door. 

**Angel:**

I push open Buffy's door apprehensively, afraid that her anger from earlier won't have faded yet. I have faced Buffy in a bad mood many times before, but it never gets any less daunting. Maybe it's because I care about good opinion so much that her hostile gaze or words cut into me so deeply. But I just know I would rather dispatch a room full of fiends from Hell than suffer Buffy's wrath.

"Hey," I say softly.

"Hey," she returns without bothering to glance over at me. I notice how young she looks lying there still in her baggy cotton pyjamas, her golden hair fanned out on the pillow. Young, innocent and vulnerable. And it makes my heart ache to think of all the hardships she has already faced in her life and how many are to come in the future. 

"How are you?"

She sits up, swinging her legs around over the edge of the bed. I can't help noticing that as she does so, the leg of her pyjamas rides up revealing one tanned and perfectly toned calf. "Fine – considering," she answers with a slight smile. "You?"

"I've had worse days."

She nods, scooting herself up the bed to lean against the headboard then drawing her knees into her chest. The leg disappears back inside its cocoon of material and I move to sit down on the bed, occupying the position she has just vacated. 

"What are we going to do, Angel?" She asks in a small voice, her expression utterly lost, just reinforcing how young she appears. 

I desperately want to reassure her, to tell her not to worry, that everything will be okay, but I can't lie to her so I simply drop my gaze from hers and look away. "I don't know," I reply.

"If the world ends then it'll be my fault," she says morosely and I turn back to stare at her with a puzzled expression.

"Of course it won't be your fault, Buffy. What makes you think that?"

"I should have been there to stop the ritual. I shouldn't have let Spike do that to me. I shouldn't…I shouldn't have…" she trails off.

"What?" I ask gently.

She shakes her head and I see tears pricking at her eyes. "I shouldn't have encouraged him."

"Encouraged him? How exactly?"

She refuses to look at me, instead staring over towards the mirror on top of her dressing table from which my reflection is conspicuously absent. "When-when we were in the cave together he was saying all sorts of things. Like how he could tell I wanted him and how he knew I liked to…to…have sex with vampires." She angrily wipes tears away from her eyes. "God, some of the things he was talking about…"

I feel sick to my stomach and even angrier at Spike. "He was just trying to upset you, you know that Buffy?" I reach out and touch her hand and she entwines her fingers tightly with mine, digging her nails sharply into my palm, like she is trying to cling on for dear life. 

"If you hadn't come when you did," she says through swiftly welling tears. "Then I don't know what would have happened…"

"Shush," I try to comfort her and she crawls wordlessly into my lap, burying her face in my chest. "We did come and you're okay. I won't let him hurt you again."

"I'm still mad at you," she mutters, grazing her fingers lightly over my thigh. 

"What about?" I ask, totally unfazed by her subject change – this is Buffy after all. 

Her palm presses against my leg, not suggestively, but more distractedly, like it is something she is doing absent-mindedly. It still sends a thrill through me, though, and makes my unnecessary breath catch in my throat. "Leaving me," she replies quietly. 

"Buffy," I sigh, disentangling our limbs. I don't want to discuss our relationship now, it won't do any good, it'll just get both of us upset. We will be reminded of the boundaries we are crossing just by being together now and I don't want that. I just want to sit with Buffy and talk and soak up her mere presence. 

"You shouldn't have listened to her," Buffy fixes me with a steady, intense gaze. "You should have talked to me about it. What you did – it wasn't fair."

"I know," I answer, raking my hand anxiously through my hair. "And I'm sorry. But it's done now." I pause, waiting for her to say something but she stays silent. "Your Mom only wanted the best for you. She did it because she loves you."

"She's sick, you know." Buffy finally speaks. "She's got cancer and she might die. She might die without every really knowing her own daughter."

"Buffy, you know that's not true," I respond quickly, frightened by her flat, detached tone of voice. She is never like this, she's always wild, passionate, always laughing or crying or shouting. This blankness, this lack of emotion, worries me, it makes it obvious how deeply affected she is by everything that is happening at the moment. 

"It is," she insists. "Because, if she really knew me, if she really saw into my heart then she'd know that the best thing for me would never have been to send you away."

She looks straight into my eyes, the depth of her feeling and the truth of her words written clearly in her gaze. Her hand drifts over to touch my knee and I'm glad I don't have to breathe because I'm not sure I would be able to; I'm finding it hard to even think just at this moment. "But she was right," I protest weakly. "I could never have made you happy, I could never have given you the future you deserve. Our relationship would have destroyed you."

She pulls her hand away abruptly and cool air rushes over the spot she has just warmed, making my skin tingle. "I thought you didn't want me anymore," she accuses. "You said you didn't want to be with me."

Suddenly I find myself dragged back into this ancient argument. Do I or don't I love her? Why did I leave? How could I even bring myself to walk away from our relationship? Sometimes I don't even know the answer to this last question myself. I have no idea where I found the strength from to leave Buffy and I'm not sure if I could ever do it again. Which is why we can't have this conversation, we just can't. I want to so much, I want to reassure her and lean over and kiss her and promise I will stay by her side for eternity, but I can't. It's not fair on Buffy. There's so much more our there for her other than demons and darkness. She deserves to see some of those other things, like sunshine and laughter, marriage and children. She deserves to be loved by someone normal, someone who can make love to her. I won't answer her. I won't say those words because there's no way I could ever take them back a second time.

I open my mouth to change the subject, to refuse to even talk about this, but somehow it seems that my heart, not my brain, now controls my mouth. "That's not what I meant," my lips move before I even realise it. 

"What did you mean?"

My resolve returns slightly. "Buffy, you're with Riley now. You have someone you love, you should be somewhere with him, not here with me, going over old arguments. We ended – it's over."

_("It's never over!")_

Her expression darkens and Buffy turns away from me. Getting up off the bed, she crosses the room towards her dresser and, sitting on the stool in front of it, she starts to methodically brush her hair. I walk over to stand behind her and her eyes drift up the mirror to where mine would be if I actually had a reflection. "Do you want to hear something really funny?" She asks, sounding more depressed than amused, her voice and her face both seeming empty. "I don't love him. I never did love him. I lied. Don't you think that's just hysterical?"

I feel anger and pain well up inside me even as she says the words. How could she, how could she do that to me? The fact that she would deliberately look me in the eye and throw her new love in my face just because she was angry with me was bad enough. But to lie to purposely hurt me – that creates a jagged ache deep inside of me right around where my heart used to beat. I grip her shoulder and twist her round to look at me. "Why did you say it then?" I hiss. "Why would you make up something like that when you knew what it would do to me?"

"Because I wanted to love him," she yells back at me. "I thought if I said it to you it might come true. That I might dream about Riley every night instead of you, that I might not feel sick when he touches me because it's the wrong hands and the wrong lips. I wanted to push you out of my heart, because there was no room for anyone else – but it didn't work. Whatever I said or did, I couldn't get rid of you."

"Oh, Buffy," I murmur, overwhelmed by her words and the sheer strength of her feeling. I reach out my hand to brush my fingers down her cheek and catch the single tear that falls there.

"I love you," she whispers. "And I hate you for never letting me stop."

"I love you too," I reply and suddenly her lips are on mine and my hands are in her hair. Her body presses up close to mine and there is nothing left of the world but her. Our kiss deepens, each of us trying to push closer to the other. Tongues mesh together and somehow we stumble back onto the bed. My hands are up her pyjama top, dancing over her back, her breasts, before I even realise what is happening.

"No," I mumble against her cheek. "We shouldn't, we mustn't…"

She rakes her fingernails down my back, dropping her lips to my throat and kissing me insistently there before moving up to tease my ear with her tongue whilst speaking huskily into it. "Stop then."

"I can't…" I moan, knowing exactly what the consequences could be of us doing this, but just not finding the will inside me to care. 

"I can't either…" She breathes in reply, her pulse thundering in my ears. 

We roll over one another, savouring lost feelings, tastes, touches, sensations… Skin meets skin, fingers exploring, lips sampling. Her body arches towards mine and-

The phone rings. 

End of Part Eight 

_A/N ~ _Hmm, I think I've fully established by B/A bias now, don't you? *g* Sorry if this isn't your area of interest, the next chapter will be more varied, I promise. Thanks again for reading. 


	9. Reactions

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER NINE 

**Riley:**

My alarm wakes me at six a.m. as usual and I pull my aching body out of bed, heading into the bathroom to get myself a glass of water before starting my daily exercise routine. One hundred push-ups, followed by weights, followed by sit-ups then a two-mile run. But half way through the push-ups I just give up. I am too tired from the events of last night, my head pounds and my muscles are sore and that is nothing compared to the distraction my mind faces. 

Things were so much simpler a year ago. My life had structure then, organisation. Every minute of my day was mapped out before me and I had to do was stick to the plan and everything would turn out okay. I took my vitamins every morning. I went jogging, came back, had a shower and a healthy nutritional breakfast. By eight I was already at college, preparing for Professor Walsh's lectures, familiarising myself with the academic material and the work of various students. At the end of the day I reported to Initiative HQ: there I was given a mission that I followed to the absolute letter, and in reward I was presented with promotion and commendations. My friends were fellow soldiers. We socialised in bars but never drank. We met girls and were always polite and respectful at the end of the evening. 

Everything was routine, familiar. My whole future was set out in front of me. Success, happiness, a beautiful wife, 2.4 children and a house in the suburbs – it was all there for the taking. I was stable, well adjusted, responsible, every mother's dream son. Then I met _her_. 

Buffy walked into my life and suddenly all that I had wasn't enough anymore. At first I thought that she was just the same as all the other girls I had dated: pretty, a bit ditzy, but generally smart and sweet. Then I found out that she was the Slayer. I found out the truth and it shocked me, it frightened me, but it also excited me. She was wild, she was dangerous, she showed me a world I had never seen before, even through the eyes of the Initiative. She associated with vampires, she and her friends dabbled in magic, she was strong, powerful and dominating. Suddenly I realised that I craved the danger she presented to me. I wanted the excitement. My average and routine life wasn't enough anymore. 

So, I fell into her existence of darkness and apocalypse, of fighting and spell casting. And I became addicted to it all, to the adrenaline rush, to the thrill I felt flash through me every time she entered a room. I loved it. I loved her. And now – now I'm not so sure. 

I'm in over my head. Maybe it started when Faith came into town and switched bodies with Buffy. The first realisation that there were things she faced everyday that I didn't understand, could never understand, came to me then. Later I met Oz and the foundation of one of my basic beliefs was shaken. The maxim demons bad, humans good didn't necessarily ring true anymore and it threw me a little. But I picked myself up and dusted myself off and tried to adjust my perspective of the world to fit the things I now saw in it. Then Buffy told me about Angel. 

She told me the tale of her lost love, of emotions that I thought only existed in movies or trashy romance novels. It made me realise I didn't really know her, I couldn't see into her heart and what lay there, she wasn't really the girl I'd fallen in love with. But that only dragged me in deeper. Buffy to me has always been a puzzle I have to figure out, and I know that if I manage to find the answer then all that beauty, all that strength, all the light that spills so brightly from her, it will all be mine. I'll have won her heart finally and we will be together for the rest of our lives. 

But in trying to fathom Buffy – living in her world and stepping into the maze of her personality – I've somehow managed to lose myself. Now I'm not sure whether I'm closer to the answer than when I started or even further away from it. I just know that everything around me has spiralled out of control and I have no idea what to do about it. All the things that used to matter to me – the Initiative, my military career, my Ph.D. studentship- they've all been lost by the wayside. Even the little details that used to shape my existence, like my daily regimens, seem insignificant now. After all, we are facing the end of the world and what can be more important than that.

The thing is, though, I don't want to save the world anymore. I've been there and I've done that. I've got the stories of action and adventure to tell my grandchildren. Now I want to step away from the darkness and the demons and have a chance of actually getting the grandchildren in the first place. I want a normal life back and I want Buffy to share that with me – God knows she deserves it. But I'm not sure that Buffy wants the same thing. There's part of her that belongs in the night and as much as she tells me she hates the slaying gig, that there's nothing she would like more than to be rid of it, I think that if she had the choice, she would never give it up. 

And that threatens me. I'm jealous that my girlfriend is too busy saving humanity or fighting demons to just sit home and watch a movie with me, or to go out for dinner, or to a club. Maybe that makes me small-minded, but I don't think so. After all, how unreasonable is it to want to spend just a little time alone in the company of the woman I love? But instead she has to be out patrolling all the time or researching the latest problem Sunnydale's Hellmouth has thrown up. She always takes on everything herself, like last night when she insisted on staying to comfort Angel. He's not her responsibility any more, she hardly ever even sees him nowadays. There was absolutely no reason for her to have to rush over to console him like that. No reason at all. 

She still went, though, she still went to him and pushed me away. I don't understand it. I don't get her fascination with Angel or why she would want to spend time with him over me. I have so many things that he hasn't. I'm human. I'd never hurt Buffy, I'd never leave her like he did, I'd never shatter her heart into a million pieces. I can give her everything she wants, sunshine, children, a normal life. But here we are again, right back to the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Does Buffy want a normal life? Does she even want me?

I have to know now. I have to find out what her answer is to my proposal. She tried to defer replying until her mind was clearer, after the problem of the forthcoming apocalypse was sorted out. And I know nothing has been solved on that front, but she has still had nearly twenty-four hours to weigh the decision in her mind. She must have made a choice by now, in her heart at least if not in her head. If she doesn't want to marry me then I'd prefer to find out sooner rather than later then we can sort things out, forget I ever asked and move on. And if her answer is yes then I think we should have the wedding this week, just in case the world does end. Then we will die together, husband and wife, like it's supposed to be. 

Taking a deep breath I pick up the phone and dial Buffy's number. 

**Buffy:**

My head spins and my heart pounds and I can barely even remember breathe let alone form a single coherent thought. These are Angel's fingers dancing over my skin, his lips on my lips, his hand in my hair, his muscular body pressed against mine. I can hardly believe it is actually happening, that this is real and not some dream of mine. I can't stop touching him, stop tasting him, because at every instant I have to reassure myself that I'm not just imagining this. He has just told me that he loves me and I didn't, until this instant, realise how much I had doubted those words or how much of a relief it would be to hear them once more. 

He loves me and we're together and suddenly it feels like I'm whole again, like a missing piece of me has been returned at last. Tears stream down my face, tears of anguish for all the pain he has put me through and of happiness that he is here finally and the that aching in my soul is now soothed. But he kisses the tears away and I pull closer towards him, willing to crawl inside his skin if only I could, just so that I could forever be a part of him and we would never be separated once more. 

Through the dreamlike haze I register the soft whisper of fabric being torn from my skin and the coolness of Angel's naked flesh against mine. God, I never want this moment and its bittersweet pleasure to end…

Suddenly, Angel goes tense below me, rolling out from underneath me. Confused and hurt, I stare into his deep, soft, brown eyes, trying to find an explanation for why he has stopped so abruptly. Then the noise finally penetrates my conscious mind. The harsh jangle of a ringing telephone. 

"Just leave it," I implore, grabbing Angel's arm desperately and holding on tight enough for my fingernails to leave little half-moon impressions. But the moment has already been lost, the passionate atmosphere destroyed.

"It could be important, Buffy," he answers quietly, yet firmly and I have no choice but to let go of him – ignoring the livid red mark that remains on his pale skin where we touched – and lean over to the beside cabinet to pick up the phone.

"Hello," I answer, a little breathlessly.

"Buffy." The voice on the other end of the phone replies. Riley. It is Riley. My boyfriend is calling me and I'm here naked in bed with my ex-(and very nearly current)lover. Oh my God, I feel sick. Suddenly, excessively aware of my lack of clothing, almost as if Riley could see as well as hear me, I pull the sheets up to cover myself, guilt welling up inside me. Riley never did anything but love me and I repay him like this. What kind of a person am I, anyway?

"Hello, Buffy?" Riley's soft voice comes again and I realise I haven't spoken yet.

"Yeah, hi. I'm here," I manage to choke out. I glance, anxiously over my shoulder to where Angel lies beside me, the look on my face telling him all he needs to know about the identity of the caller. Turning back, I sense rather than see Angel slowly putting back on his clothes. New tears brim in my eyes and I force my attention onto Riley's call. "Was there anything that you wanted?"

"I thought we should talk," he replies. "About what I asked you the other day."

Somehow I gain the capacity to feel even worse than I already did. Riley wants to discuss us possibly getting married in the presence of the guy I almost (okay did and would have even more if allowed the opportunity) cheated on him with. And what of Angel's feelings through all of this: what must he be thinking now? The tears well up and over my eyelids, falling silently down my cheeks. "I can't right now, Riley," I answer him. "Maybe we should meet up later. I want to get the whole gang together, anyway – we need to talk about what we're going to do next." I deliberately change the subject to slaying business, a nice neutral topic, something I can focus on in the hopes that my personal problems will just fade into the background. 

"Sure," he says, with what I imagine to be some hostility. "Where do you want to meet – Giles'?"

"That's probably not going to be a good idea," I point out, images of last night's tragedy forcing their way, unbidden, into my head. This morning Giles' home would most likely be swarming with police and ambulance crews as they made the gruesome discovery of Gunn's body. "Why don't you come over here?"

"Yeah, sorry. I forgot. I'll see you in about fifteen minutes."

I look desperately around. Quarter of an hour was nowhere near enough time to get myself together before facing Riley. I still needed to dress and shower, and he would wonder what Angel was doing here too. "No, wait," I interrupt before he can put the phone down. "I, uh, wanted to go and see Giles first this morning. The doctor said it would do him good to have visitors. How about you get here about noon, and I'll fetch some takeout on the way back from the hospital – we can make it a lunch meeting."

"I was hoping we'd have some time alone to talk."

"We will," I reassure him in a strained voice. "We will – but later, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees then hangs up the phone. 

I replace the receiver gently back into its cradle then wrap my arms around myself in a gesture that brings me little comfort. I stay sat there, silent and unmoving, for at least a minute, before turning around to look at Angel. His expression is serious, his eyes once again covered by their hard emotionless cast. 

"That was Riley," I whisper with a slight smile, trying to find the tiniest bit of good humour buried deep down somewhere inside me.

"I know," Angel replies impassively. 

"He, uh, he asked me to marry him," I say, trying to suppress vaguely hysterical laughter.

Angel abruptly loses his poker face, shock flashing like lightning across his features. Then all at once it is gone, whatever emotions he is feeling pushed deep down within himself. He once told me that the person he shares his pain with is himself, nobody else, no friends or lovers to share the burden. I remember those words now, then spoken in anger, and realise just how true they are. Angel has been hiding his true feelings for so long that he no longer remembers how to do anything else. 

"What are you going to tell him?" Angel asks.

I look down at my naked body, covered still only a thin cotton sheet, then back up at Angel, his hair rumpled and his shirt not quite fully buttoned. "What do you think I'm going to tell him?" I reply acerbically. 

Angel studies his hands intently, refusing to meet my gaze. "I don't know. I really don't know."

**Giles: **

I didn't think it was actually possible to hurt quite this much. The only pain I have ever felt equal to this was upon finding Jenny's body, but that was entirely different. That was an internal pain, one much less easily healed. This is just pain of muscle and tissue, of nerves and skin. It will fade in time, as will the scars. And it won't suddenly come shooting back in the dead of night when I least expect it, or in the shopping centre when a dark haired woman walks past and I catch the faintest aroma of _her _perfume. So, I suppose in way it's a good pain – one that at least lets me know I'm still alive. 

I've never been in a coma before, and I suppose later on I will begin to appreciate it as an interesting experience, something to be studied and researched. But right now the pain in my skull and in every cell of my body is just too great to be indulging in intellectual exercises. And the dreams are still too vivid. 

I'd like to say there was a light, that I floated above my body in some way and watched the doctors working on me, something in the nature of what is expected. But it was nothing like that, perhaps because I was never really dying, just very ill. Instead I had visions, nightmares, of pain and death. Of Buffy's fear and blood soaked walls, of the flames that put me in this very hospital encompassing everyone and everything. And when I awoke I knew something was very seriously wrong. 

Since then I've been waiting. Drifting in and out of sleep due to the pain medication I've been given, but still waiting nonetheless. Anticipating the news that I know will reach me soon. I've never been very in tune with supernatural vibrations or blessed with any powers of precognition or the like. I've always stuck to the bare facts and the musty books and left the fortune telling to those with the gift for it. Buffy with her prophetic dreams, Cordelia with her visions and even upon occasion Drusilla's insane ramblings. But now, perhaps because of my weakened state or perhaps just because of the huge significance of the events, I can feel the vibrations of the Hellmouth reaching out, can almost scent the evil in the air. Something bad is happening and it sends a chill through my bones.

Eventually I get some news. I have a visitor. Buffy Summers, would I like to see her? I could almost kiss the nurse who told me (if it didn't hurt to move so much) out of pure relief. With the news that Buffy is safe and well and here to see me, comes the acknowledgement of my deepest and most unspoken fear – that Buffy had died whilst I was unconscious and it was this cosmic upset (the loss of one of the most important warriors for good) that I had been feeling. By spirits rise somewhat as Buffy walks into the room, then plummet once again as I see the expression on her face. 

She looks truly and utterly depressed, possibly the most down I've ever seen her – save the morning after her seventeenth birthday. She offers me a weak smile and sits heavily down in the chair next to my bed.

"Has something happened, Buffy?" I try to speak, but it comes out as more of a croak. Smoke inhalation the doctors have told me. Affects the vocal cords. A few days and I'll be fine. It is just my body that's been injured after all, nothing deeper than skin and flesh. 

Tears spring into Buffy's eyes and she reached out to grip my hand tightly. "I messed up Giles. I really messed up."

Fear grips my heart anew. "Is everyone else okay?"

She shakes her head. "I called Angel for help and one of his friends was killed last night – by Spike."

"Spike?" I whisper incredulously, my throat feeling like I've swallowed a sheet of rough grade sandpaper. "But the chip?"

Buffy shakes her head. "Gone. Angel thinks that the group of demons we were worried about – the ones who set the fire – offered to remove it for him, in exchange for…"

"What?" I prompt, wanting to ask more questions but fearing my voice box won't allow it.

"In exchange for him distracting me, while the demons finished their ritual." She rushes the sentence out in one long breath, the memories obviously traumatic for her. 

"The demons completed the ritual?" I ask in a flurry of panic, bringing on a coughing fit. My chest burns painfully for every wracking cough that reverberates through it and I struggle to breathe. Buffy gets a look of pure alarm on her face and she stands up to call for the nurse, her cries getting fainter and further away as the world around me starts to fade to black. Strong hands lift my body, propping me up into a sitting position and an oxygen mask is slipped over my face. Gradually the coughing fit subsides and I begin to breathe normally again.

The nurse lowers me back onto the bed, this time with a couple of pillows raising my torso at an angle, so as to allow my chest to clear of mucus. She fixes Buffy with a disapproving look. 

"Perhaps you should consider cutting your visit a little short Miss Summers, until Mr Giles is a little more recovered."

I shake my head vigorously, reaching up to dislodge the mask. "No, I want her to stay."

This time I am the recipient of the disapproving look, which I try to match with a stare of my own. Finally the nurse simply relents, limiting Buffy's visit to five minutes more only, but leaving us alone for the remainder of the duration. 

"The ritual?" I ask Buffy almost immediately after the nurse is out of hearing.

She nods ruefully. "They got it done, right on time. Only Willow managed to cast a spell at the last minute that delays whatever apocalyptic fun we're to look forward to by seven days." She drops her head into her hands. "I'm so sorry Giles, but if we don't come up with something pretty spectacular in a week's time then…"

She doesn't finish her sentence, and I think it's because she is afraid to, that if she speaks the truth out loud it will actually make it real, not just some hideous nightmare we're all trapped in. I cover her hand with mine, trying to offer comfort, while my practised Watcher's brain is already trying to chip away at the problem. Seven days. So much can be changed in that time – there must be something we can do. 

"Buffy," my rasping voice gains her attention immediately. "I think I may have an idea…"

End of Part Nine 

_To be continued…_


	10. Reinforcement

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN 

**Willow:**

I push the huge mound of Chinese food on my plate around with a fork. I am yet to eat any of it, excepting a few grains of rice. The truth is I am really not hungry, all this worrying makes for a great diet plan, shame I won't actually be alive to see the benefits. Tara touches my arm gently, urging me to eat something, anything. Smiling wanly at her, I scoop up a mouthful of sweet and sour chicken, even the strong spicy sauce managing to taste like ashes and cardboard, and force myself to swallow. Tara looks satisfied, leans her forehead against mine briefly, then returns to her barely touched meal.

The room, although filled with people, is virtually silent. Everyone – with the notable exception of Angel – is occupied with their take-out lunch, but glancing around I notice more people _pretending_ to enjoy the food than there are actually eating. In truth the silence comes more from despondency and awkwardness than anything else. Xander, who came home with Buffy after her visit to the hospital this morning, seems to be the only one of us with any good humour at all. His face still bright red from the burns and his voice a little croaky, he is perpetually trying to crack jokes and smiles in order to lighten the mood a little. The only reason for his silence now being the fact that Anya is busy indulgently feeding him beef chow mein straight from the cardboard container after hearing his dual complaints that hospital food is totally gross and his hands are all bandaged up so he can't hold the chopsticks. 

Buffy on the other hand seems to be a whirlwind of nervous energy. She keeps flitting from one end of the lounge room to the other, nervously asking if everyone is doing all right and checking to see that we all have our favourite Chinese dishes, which she made a special effort to buy for us all. She seems wound-up to the point she will snap, her face set in a perpetual frown as she studiously avoids any contact at all with either Riley or Angel, whilst the former keeps trying to catch her attention and the latter hides away in the shadows in the corner. Eventually, running out of useful tasks to complete (like offering drinks, or clearing away empty take-out boxes) she looks about to be drawn into a tête-à-tête with Riley, so anxiously calls attention to our extended Scooby gang meeting. 

"Hey, uh, guys – is everybody okay?" A deathly silence greets her question, broken only by Xander's waving arm and mumbles through a mouthful of food. "Okay, great," Buffy adds under her breath. "Now I talked to Giles this morning – "

"Is he going to be all right?" I interrupt quickly, unable to bear the possibility of something…someone else to worry about. 

"He's going to be fine," Buffy reassures me, the first genuine smile I have seen her give all day breaking out on her face. "He just needs a little recovery time that's all."

"Well, that certainly is the best piece of news we've heard in a while," Wesley, interjects in a quite, diplomatic tone.

"Prepare yourself for another one," Buffy adds in a slightly shaky voice. "Giles thinks he's come up with a way of stopping this thing."

"Y-you mean reversing the effects of the ritual?" Tara asks hopefully.

Buffy nods. "It's a slim possibility, but Giles says that the casting of this ritual will have upset the fabric of the Hellmouth, so it's going to be unusually unstable for this coming week – "

"You mean before it rips open and swallows us all?" Anya interrupts.

"You might want to be more with the 'glass half full' philosophy, An," Xander reminds his girlfriend gently. 

"Anyway," Buffy continues, ignoring Anya and Xander's exchange. "With all the supernatural disturbances and stuff, we could be in with a chance of sealing the Hellmouth shut permanently."

"Meaning Sunnydale will no longer be the international tourist destination for vampires, demons and general apocalypse-causing fiends?" Riley asks, brightening somewhat. 

"Yeah, if we can actually pull this off," Buffy confirms.

"How exactly are we going to do that?" Angel enquires quietly, an electricity-charged glance passing between him and Buffy.

She shifts uncomfortably. "By sacrificing all the demons that cast the ritual in the first place into the Hellmouth and performing their spell backwards. Whereas they wanted to fully open the Hellmouth, hopefully we should have the opposite effect and close it."

"Sounds simple enough," Riley says with a large grin.

"S-so the world isn't going end?" I ask in a small voice. 

Buffy shrugs, not looking particularly happy at the news. "I guess not."

The collective sigh of relief uttered is almost audible. Then suddenly all the chatter people have been suppressing spills forth. Xander is loudly congratulating Buffy, maintaining he'd always known that 'the Buffster and her SuperSlayer powers would find a way out of this'. Wesley and Angel are discussing battle strategy, with Riley trying desperately to contribute to the conversation. Cordelia and Anya have found something new to argue about and Tara is trying to calm them both. But registering Buffy's miserable expression, something ill fitting to the considerably raised hopes of the situation, I pull her to one side and demand (one of a best friend's most valued privileges) to know what the matter is.

Her frown deepens even more and instead of the brush off and declaration of 'I'm fine' I was expecting, she grips my hand tightly, tears springing in her eyes. "I really need to talk to you, Will."

We quietly head upstairs to Buffy's room for a private heart-to-heart, the only person that notices our escape being Angel, who flashes me a pained and knowing look, piquing my curiosity as well as my concern. I knew it would be only a matter of time before Angel's return affected Buffy somehow.

Buffy shuts her bedroom door behind us and collapses on her bed, head in hands. I move to sit down next to her, my arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

"I made such a mess of things, Will," she sniffs. 

"Is this about Angel?" She nods in response and I continue. "Oh, Buffy, what happened?"

"We, uh, well, I sort of…told-him-I-loved-him," she runs the words together, choking back a sob. "Then we…"

"You didn't!" I interrupt incredulously, anxious over what she is going to confess next. Angel is still definitely still Angel, I'm sure. I mean I think I would have noticed if he was an evil psychopath trying to kill everybody. I certainly noticed when it happened to Spike…

Buffy shakes her head. "We would have though, if…if Riley hadn't phoned up at like that exact moment." This time her sobs do come out and she is crying full force on my shoulder over her twisted and impossible love life. Vague memories return of previous times spent with Buffy like this, comforting her in her despair over Angel. 

_("I can't breathe, Will…")_

"Shush," I try to comfort her. "Everything's going to be okay, you'll see." When her weeping has subsided to little snuffles, I get up the courage to question her further. "What did you say to Riley?"

She shakes her head helplessly. "I didn't. I'd just told him I'd meet him here. He wants an answer today."

I just look at Buffy in complete confusion. "An answer to what?"

Her voice breaks once more as she tries to reply. "His marriage proposal."

"Oh," is all I can think of to say. "Don't you know what to tell him?" I finally add.

Buffy laughs bitterly. "No, I do know what to tell him – that's the problem. I know what I _want _to tell him, anyway. I just think 'I'm sorry I can't be your wife Riley, because I'm still in love with my vampire ex-boyfriend' will go down very well."

"You meant it then," I ask. "When you said you loved him?"

She fixes her eyes on me with the most intense, fervent gaze I have ever seen. "More than I've ever meant anything in world."

"But, I thought…I thought that you were over him…"

"I'm not sure I'll ever be over him," she replies sadly. "You must know what it's like – I mean, with Oz."

I think about this for a minute. Am I totally over Oz? Does part of me still love him and will love him forever? The more this question weighs on my mind, the more I conclude the answer is yes. Of course he's always going to occupy a special place in my heart – but only a small place. I am with Tara now, I love her, she is the most important person in the world to me and I'd thought that this is what it was like for Buffy and Riley too. "I-I don't know, Buffy." I eventually answer. "Maybe…"

She frowns. "There's no maybe here, Will. I've tried to forget. I've tried to move on with my life, to love someone else – but I just can't. I can't do it anymore."

"Have you talked to Angel about any of this? What does he say?"

Buffy twists the bedcovers beneath her hands. "That he loves me too. But it's not that simple…things between us are just so hard. I mean, there's the curse and sunlight and children and the whole separate cities thing. Plus Riley… I just don't know what to do."

"You should talk to him, Buffy," I try to comfort her, at a loss of what I can say or do to make things any better. We all thought she'd put Angel behind her, that maybe she'd grown out of him or something, learnt to let go and move on, to pursue more sensible relationships. But apparently not. And I'm not sure how I feel about that. I used to think that what they had was romantic – movie love – but this isn't a movie or some tragic romance novel, it's real life. Buffy can't go chasing after a dream like this, she has enough other problems to face. 

The cynical, self-centred part of me is almost angry at her. She has a great guy who really, really loves her, who wants to marry her even, and she's going to crush his feelings, to push him away from her just for some starry-eyed notion of forbidden love. They've barely even been reunited forty-eight hours and already she's weeping uncontrollably over Angel. Doesn't she realise that things will only get worse from now on, that they can't help but hurt one another? Doesn't she know that she's supposed to be the strong one right now, the one that everybody else gets to rely upon, not the one who's falling apart herself?

Ashamed of my self-centred thoughts, I stroke Buffy's hair softly. I've been here, in the depths of despair over lost love and I know how it feels. She _will _get past it in time, it's just seeing Angel again that's brought back all the old confusion and pain. I know I'd be pretty much a mess of Oz just suddenly turned up with no warning. All Buffy needs right now is a little compassion and a clearer vision of the situation. "Maybe you should wait a few days before making any rash decisions," I suggest tentatively. "You know, see how you feel."

Buffy looks up at me, a surprised expression on her face and is about to say something, when abruptly all the colour drains out of her face and she doubles up in pain. 

"Buffy?" I call after her concerned, as she rushes across the hall to the bathroom. Following close behind, I stand over anxiously as she vomits in the toilet. "Are you okay?" I ask when she's stopped retching.

"Guess I shouldn't have had those spicy prawns, huh?" She tries to quip, but it is obvious there's something more seriously wrong than just some bad Chinese food. She splashes water on her face, whilst I try to convince her to see a doctor.

"It's just stress – " Buffy begins to reassure me, before being interrupted by a loud commotion from downstairs. 

**Angel:**

Wesley's voice is droning in my ear, talking about battle plans and strategy and how to lure all the demons to the Hellmouth so that they can be thrown in, but I'm not really paying any attention. My thoughts are all occupied with Buffy and what passed (and didn't pass) between us this morning, which naturally also brings Riley to the forefront of my mind. It doesn't help that he is sat barely a yard away from me, eagerly conversing with Wesley, whilst trying not very hard to disguise the dirty looks he keeps flashing in my direction. I am torn between the desire to leap up off my chair right this minute and tear his head clean off his shoulders in a jealous rage, and the guilt that keeps me steadfastly rooted in place, wishing that the ground would just swallow me up right now.

The guilt wins, which considering my tormented soul and my propensity for brooding, shouldn't come as much of a surprise. Despite all my possessive feelings over Buffy the fact remains that she doesn't belong to me – in fact she never really did in the first place. These are human relationships I'm dealing with here, not twisted vampire ones. People aren't like demons, they don't _own _one another, they don't have claims of blood or life, they are merely with each other because they _choose _to be. And Buffy is with Riley. She chose him; she made promises, gave reassurances, accepted him into her life and gave him her body. They called one another partners, lovers, formed a mutual bond and this morning Buffy and I desecrated that bond. 

Maybe my language is dramatic here, my sentiments overstated. All Buffy and I really did was admit to feelings that had existed, unspoken, for over two years. Then we shared a few illicit kisses, nothing compared to what routinely goes on in many modern relationships. But my views aren't exactly modern. I was raised Catholic in eighteenth century Ireland and some of those old, strict teachings still remain with me. I am well aware of the irony and the double standard, considering the many pleasures of the flesh I have indulged myself in over the centuries. Even when I was human, drinking and debauchery were two of my favourite pastimes and upon more than one occasion I can admit to seducing a married woman. 

But this is Buffy and somehow with Buffy everything seems different – purer. When we slept together on the night of her seventeenth birthday it was the first time I had ever _made_ _love_ not just had meaningless sex. Then it was about worship and adoration, paying homage to every inch of her perfect and exceptionally beautiful body. Every time I lay my hands on her skin, or my lips on her lips, it's like being allowed to touch a little bit of heaven, and the idea that this has been done illegitimately or deceitfully sullies the experience somehow. With Buffy everything should be right and true and perfect, and this morning wasn't at all. 

However much I may hate Riley Finn (and I do, with a passion only a two centuries old evil demon could muster), I still feel bad about what I have just done to him. He doesn't deserve to have the woman he loves cheat on him with some other guy. I know that if Buffy and I were together and if someone else as much as looked at her lustily then I would want to slice open his stomach and rip out his intestines. And this is a feeling I know intimately from experience, though fortunately one I have never acted upon (otherwise I'm sure I would have eviscerated Xander several thousand times over by now). Something else I am also acutely aware of is how I would feel if the tables were turned, if I had just asked Buffy to marry me when she turned around and announced she didn't really love me and incidentally when I phoned her up this morning she was actually in bed with her ex-boyfriend. Given this situation I imagine I would probably be walking out into the sun the next day.

And all issues of adultery or deception aside, there are plenty of other reasons to feel guilty about my abortive tryst with Buffy. We nearly slept together. I could have lost my soul, certainly I was in no position to stop without interruption and it didn't seem like Buffy was either. We were acting purely on feeling, no rationality or logical thought. And we already know how dangerous those particular feelings can be. By no means do I want a repeat of the events following the first time Buffy and I gave in to our carnal desires, because I don't think either of us could survive the reappearance of Angelus once again. This time I know there would be no re-casting of the curse – the demon wouldn't allow it to happen – the only way the scenario could possibly end would be with my Final Death, most likely by the hands of Buffy, which (especially in the light of her speech this morning) I think would destroy her. 

So, basically, sex between Buffy and I – not a good idea. This I could probably handle if we were talking any other woman other than Buffy Summers. I mean in 250 years of unlife, I've had enough sex to satisfy anyone's quota. I've been there, done that and indulged every imaginable fantasy (plus a few more, besides). What I'm looking for now is deeper than simple sex – it's friendship, love, nights spent just holding one another. I don't want any more solely physical acts empty of emotion. But with Buffy the sex could never be empty, every touch is magical, every kiss brimming over with love. With her I have all the things I've being wanting these past hundred years. And I would gladly take the hugs and the chaste kisses and the shy handholding, if my body didn't tremble with desire every time I saw her. If my flesh didn't ache for the feel of hers against it. If I thought I had any control over the fiery, deep lust I feel for her…

But I don't. Neither of us does. There's something between us, a deeper chemistry than I've ever felt before, which was why I left, because of how dangerous it was. And now that I've returned I find it even more so, Buffy has matured from a pretty young girl to a stunningly attractive woman. A woman with full knowledge of her body and how to use it. She is sexually experienced now and no longer has shyness or embarrassment to hold her back. This time there is no holding back; neither of us has the strength to do so. And that means we can't be together, we can't start off along a path we wouldn't be able to follow to its end. More than ever I know how much I love her, and more than ever I know how impossible our relationship is.

A loud pounding on the door drags me suddenly away from my train of thought. Automatically, I look around my surroundings for a weapon, before remembering that it is broad daylight in a suburban street and whoever's at the door is more likely to be a travelling salesman than a demon. Supposing, that is, that the two are actually in any way different. Nevertheless, I manage to locate one of Buffy's spare axes (a little lightweight for my taste, but it would still do some serious damage) and lurk behind Wesley in the shadows, as he opens the door, revealing a young man in smart army uniform.

My suspicions raised, I grip the axe more tightly, until Riley appears from the lounge and his face lights up in a broad grin.

"Graham, what are you doing here?"

I raise my eyebrows as 'Graham' gives Riley a salute, which the former commando returns. The newcomer then beckons to an army truck parked in the driveway, from which about five more soldiers emerge. 

"We heard there was some action going down – the electromagnetic vibrations given off by the Hellmouth have been changing recently." Graham explains. "Thought you might need some help to deal."

Riley invites them in enthusiastically, with apparently no thought to what Buffy's reaction to her house being filled with army cadets would be. As one, they traipse into the lounge room, their trained military observation skills completely failing to notice a vampire with an axe stood three feet away from them. Remembering my last encounter with this group (when they attacked me en masse) I keep hold of my weapon and head back to join the rest of the party, only to find six stun-guns pointed directly at my chest.

"A hostile!" One of the soldiers calls out. "How did he get in here? Subdue him quick!"

Feeling more irritated than threatened by their behaviour, I turn away in the direction of footsteps coming rushing down the stairs. Buffy, looking slightly paler and more puffy-eyed than usual, suddenly appears, her expression alternating between that of horror and anger. 

"What the Hell is going on here?"

End of Part Ten 

_To be continued_…

_A/N ~ _Thanks again for all the great feedback – it really helps with motivation to write these things! 


	11. Confusion

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN 

**Buffy:**

Chaos is erupting around me. Cordelia loudly argues with several of the soldiers, backed-up by Wesley. Two of the commandoes lift her up by the elbows and march her into the lounge to the tune of her deafening shrieks. Riley is in rapid conversation with a guy I vaguely recognise from last year's trouble with the Initiative, whilst the three remaining soldiers stand around uneasily with their guns pointed at Angel. Xander chases after the commandoes who apprehended Cordelia, trying desperately to ignore Anya who is flitting around alternating between insisting how absolutely human she is and telling Xander that Cordelia is nowhere near worth risking his life over. Willow and Tara are calling in vain for everyone to be quiet and calm down. 

Meanwhile, Mom chooses this exact moment to return home and join the fray. In between her shrieks of "Buffy Anne Summers, what is going on here?" and "Everyone out of my house now!" I hear Dawn remark "Cool! House party", and suddenly it is all too much for me. My head spins and I feel unsteady on my feet. Instead of managing to march authoritatively across the room to order the soldiers to leave, I sway precariously and my knees buckle underneath me. Just as I think I am going to fall to the floor, Angel's strong arms catch me, and he holds me still. 

"QUIET!" He bellows, managing to successfully drown out the rest of the din and restoring peace once more. Everyone stops mid-activity and directs their gaze towards Angel, unable to miss as they do so, the sight of me pressed up closely against him. I see jealousy flash brightly in Riley's eyes and pull away from Angel guiltily. He is reluctant to let me go, however, until he is sure I'm okay. Wordlessly, he sets me down on the stairs then catches my eye in a questioning gaze. I open my mouth to reassure him I am okay, but before I can speak a telltale high-pitched electronic squeal catches the attention of both of us.

Immediately recognising the noise as a soldier powering up his tazer-gun, Angel twists around rapidly switching automatically into game face and moving in front of me, an obvious protective instinct. There is a moment of indecision from the soldier as he glances around to see his colleagues automatically raise their weapons in support and catches the openly hostile glare on Riley's face. Hearing another squeal of a gun being powered up he makes up his mind to fire on Angel, depressing the trigger of the weapon at exactly the moment Cordelia kicks him in the shin. 

The commando utters a yelp of pain (Cordelia's pointy-toed, high heels for once proving to be functional as well as fashionable) and twists his body around so that the bolt of electricity is discharged in another direction, away from Angel and directly into Riley's chest. Before I can fully realise what has happened, Riley falls, unconscious, to the ground and there follows a stunned silence.

A small, thin giggle breaks the shocked tension of the room, Dawn's laughter quickly being joined by Cordelia and Xander's. 

"Hey, guys this isn't funny, you know," I try to scold them, whilst repressing a grin of my own. "Is he going to be okay?" I nod towards the fallen Riley.

Head-commando-guy reaches down to check Riley's pulse and breathing. After a couple of seconds he nods curtly. "He'll be fine – it'll just knock him out for a couple of hours, that's all."

I try not to feel relieved by the news. I wasn't looking forward to sorting things out with Riley this afternoon, so any excuse not to is a rather welcome one. But still the hostile atmosphere hasn't eased any. The soldier who unfortunately managed to shoot his former commanding officer has dropped his gun out of embarrassment and repentance, but the others still tout their weapons defiantly. Surprisingly, it is Mom who remedies this situation, raising her voice to shout at them.

"I will _not _have guns fired in my house, thank you! You can leave Angel be – he's not going to hurt anyone – or you can all get out now."

Angel switches back to his human features and the commandoes reluctantly lower their weapons. Glancing around at the situation, the guy in charge motions for them all to leave. As they march in formation out the door, he offers a finally apology to my mother for all the inconvenience caused then agrees to report back tomorrow (without the reinforcements) when Riley has had a chance to recover somewhat.

Mom offers a weak smile, looking more stunned than angry. "I think I ought to go and lie down."

Four hours later the house is back to its usual peaceful state. All our visitors have left, including Riley who eventually woke up claiming to have a pounding headache and was driven home by Willow and Tara. Wesley and Cordelia decided they would go back to LA for the night and next day in order to see Gunn's friends and inform them about his death. They are to return the day after tomorrow for our scheduled attack on the demons, whatever that will turn out to be. Xander left with Anya too, because apparently she has been much deprived of sex since his injury and wants to make up for lost time. The only person who remains here is Angel, kept inside by the daylight. But I have hardly said a word to him all afternoon, I've been too busy fussing over Mom in repentance over our argument this morning (I was right, but since she's sick I shouldn't have yelled at her) and fielding questions from Dawn. 

Now Dawn has gone over to a friend's (with a strict promise not to walk home alone in the dark – amidst all this upheaval I still haven't forgotten the threat Glory poses to my sister) and Mom, claiming to feel much better, is happily preparing dinner. So, I have no further distractions or procrastinations, I have to face Angel. I walk into the lounge, just as he is rising from his chair. 

"I should be going," he says quietly. 

"But it's not even properly dark yet," I protest, gesturing out the window to where the sky is now a dusky blue colour, streaked with pink. Having made up my mind to confront him about what happened this morning I am now reluctant to let the opportunity go to waste.

"The sun's set," he points out. "I'll be fine."

"But where will you go?"

He shrugs. "I was thinking about heading back to the mansion, seeing what state it's in. That or a motel. I think it's pretty clear I can't stay here another night, though, don't you?"

"Don't worry about Mom," I reassure him. "She'll be fine – she's practically come round to it already, actually…"

He fixes me with his trademark piercing gaze, with those eyes that seem to see straight into my soul. "It's not your Mom I'm worried about, Buffy."

I swallow deeply, catching his meaning precisely. This morning we let our feelings run right out of control and he's afraid it might happen again. I'm not – afraid that is. I never have been. I've always been so utterly sure when it came to Angel, that whatever happens just feels right to me. And there hasn't been a single incidence that I haven't wanted to happen with every fibre of my being. 

But it's more complicated than wants and desires, even though I wish it weren't. I wish the world would just leave us alone to be together, that we were two different people in other space and time without barriers between us or commitments to other people. But it won't and we're not, so I guess the only thing left to do is to try and salvage something out of what we do have and for that to happen we need to talk. 

"Okay," I answer slowly. "Why don't we drive over to the mansion together and see if it's liveable." 

He nods briefly, sensing this is the only concession I'm going to give. I yell to Mom that I'm going out for a bit and Angel and I head out the door.

Neither of us speaks the entire car journey across town. The silence between us is not quite awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. It's not that we don't have anything to say to one another – it's completely the opposite, we have too much to say and don't know where to start. 

The mansion appears much how Angel left it, still dark, large and foreboding. It occurs to me that in the past year and a half I have barely ever even walked past it. Consciously or not, I have been avoiding this particular street, so I would have to stare up at the empty windows and see all my memories of this place reflected in them. There is a heavy padlock on the front door, which Angel produces the key for. The door opens with a stereotypical, haunted house creak that makes me jump. I am actually nervous about going in here. Collecting myself I follow Angel into the darkness and the first thing that strikes me is the musty, dust-filled air. 

"You can't stay here," I exclaim, my voice echoing through the empty hallway.

"It'll be fine," Angel insists. "Just wait and see."

Sceptically, I follow him though to what used to be the main room. At first the sight of several large, ghostly white shapes looming in the darkness worries me a little. Then I advance further into the room and realise the shapes are pieces of furniture, covered in dustsheets. Angel walks across the room and kneels at the grate, swiftly lighting the fire there. Then, as the flames begin to take hold, he goes around lighting the many wall-mounted candles, in order to produce and dim and flickering, but nevertheless warm, illumination. 

With the added light I can now see the room properly. It is appears much as it was when Angel used to live here, only with the few personal items he possessed then (like the books and the various pencil sketches that were scattered about) now removed. 

I cough slightly as Angel pulls the sheet of a nearby sofa, wafting a cloud of dust up into the air. "Wow. You really don't believe in furniture-removers, do you?"

He smiles slightly, turning away before I can be totally sure of the expression. "I wanted everything to still be here in case I had to come back for some reason."

"And what reason might that be?" I ask as lightly as I can manage. 

He ignores my question, sitting heavily down on the sofa instead. "Did you want to have that talk you came for now, Buffy?"

I perch myself next to him, scooting as far away as the confines of the small seat will allow. 

"About this morning…" I begin.

Angel nods, deliberately avoiding my gaze. "This morning," he repeats neutrally. 

I take a deep breath, steeling my courage. "I'm not sorry it happened."

Angel twists around to look at me, his expression hard. "I am."

I recoil as if I've been slapped, angry tears springing to my eyes. "How can you say that?" I yell at him. "You said you still loved me!"

His face suddenly seems to crumple, all his attempts at stoic impassivity failing. He looks so utterly miserable that some of my rage slips away. "I do," he insists. 

"Just not enough," I interrupt bitterly. 

He shakes his head vehemently. "God, Buffy, please don't ever even _think _that. I love you so much it makes me ache not to be with you. I love you…" he appears to be about to pick another poetic metaphor out of the air, but trails off as his own uncharacteristic enthusiasm and candour strikes him. "I love you a lot," he finishes with a shy mumble. 

My anger melted totally by his speech, I reach out and lightly touch his hand. "I know how you feel." Scooting up closer to him, I look deep into his eyes. "I missed you," I whisper.

His hand trembles slightly as he brings it up to brush a few stray hairs out of my face. "I missed you too," he says painfully.

Our faces are only inches apart and I move my fingers to the nape of his neck, caressing the soft skin there. I close my eyes, concentrating on just feeling – his cool breath on my cheek, his palm cupping the side of my face, his strong, muscular body just _there_, all I have to do is lean forward slightly and I will be pressed hard up against it. "It's been so lonely without you," I murmur. 

"Buffy," he moans, as our lips touch ever so gently. The kiss deepens gradually until our tongues are wrestling in each other's mouths and my heart is pounding nineteen to the dozen. I am totally lost in the sensation, my hand tangled in his hair and my breasts crushed up against his chest.

Then all of a sudden, he pulls roughly away from me, twisting his head around so that I cannot see his face. I get a sudden flashback to the very first time we kissed when he did the exact same thing. When he turns back I almost expect to see his demon visage instead of his human one, only now it wouldn't bother me. As long as he still has his soul, Angel is still Angel – the man I love – whatever face he shows to the world. 

What I do see, however, scares me a lot more. Angel's expression is one of absolute guilt and horror. He stands up and crosses to the other side of the room, away from me.

"We can't do this, Buffy," he says.

"Why not?" I ask desperately, advancing a few steps towards him. "We love each other – we'll make it work."

He shakes his head. "It's not that simple."

"I'll never have a normal life, Angel. I'll never be just an ordinary girl with an ordinary girlfriend. I don't even want to be that anymore." Tears brim in my eyes as I try to make him understand things I am only just beginning to realise about myself. "I want…I want…" I fail twice to complete the sentence, my gaze locked with Angel's as I walk towards him and he lets me slowly approach. "I-I want…you…" I lay my palms flat on his chest and let my voice grow husky with lust. "I _need _you."

His expression is confused and closed-off, as he seems to be fighting some internal battle. Eventually, his focus snaps back to my face and his prises my hands away from him, slipping determinedly out of my embrace once more. "Please stop," he chokes out in a tortured voice. "The curse…"

I step away from him abruptly, snatching my hands back to myself. Taking a few deep breaths I realise he is right. We mustn't let things get too hot and heavy between us. I make a mental note to try to keep my libido in check in the future and smile apologetically at Angel.

"I'm sorry." I reach up to trace the edge of his jaw with my index finger. "I promise to control myself a bit better next time."

"You don't understand," he says firmly, brushing my hand away. "There won't be a next time. That's twice in twelve hours we've come close to risking my soul. Who says we'll be able to stop if we reached this point another time. I certainly couldn't have stopped this morning – could you?"

I am struck dumb by the question and the heated manner in which Angel phrases it. I am not used to him losing his temper and yelling at me, when we were together he always backed down in an argument. And if he couldn't give up his side completely he would just walk away without explanation. He seems to have changed, however, something I first realised when I came to LA after Faith. But I tried to ignore it, pretend that nothing had changed between us, that we were still the same Angel and Buffy that met in a dark, narrow alley outside the Bronze.

I flinch under Angel's intense, angry stare and the realisation hits me properly for the first time. We're not the same as we were then, or as we were on my seventeenth birthday, or as we were when we broke up. And those differences only serve to widen the gap between us right now.

"I can't be in a relationship with you, Buffy." Angel continues in a calmer tone of voice. "Because, I can't settle for just part of you. I want all of you. I want to make love to you."

Five minutes ago I had been so sure that I had him back, that our feelings were too strong to be denied anymore. Now our second _(third, fourth, fifth?) _chance seems to be slipping away from us, because of the strength of these feelings. Angel has withdrawn from me not only physically but also emotionally, and I am desperate to remedy this. "We'll think of something. We'll come up with some way to be together," I say frantically, tears welling up in my eyes.

Angel just looks at me sadly. "There is no way to fix the curse. And I can't risk Angelus making a repeat appearance – there would just be too many lives at stake. Yours, Cordelia's, Wesley's, all your friends', not to mention all the innocent people it would put in danger and," his voice falters a little. "And me."

His meaning is startlingly clear, essentially sex with me would be suicide for him. My mouth drops open and tears that were threatening spill down my cheeks in hot, salty rivulets. "But I love you," I protest in no more than a whisper.

"It's not always about you, or what you want, Buffy." Angel says, the gentle tone of his voice not quite managing to take the sting out of his words. "I'm sorry," he reaches out a comforting hand towards me, which I immediately recoil from. 

"Don't touch me!" I yell, backing rapidly away. "Just stay the hell away from me. I never want to see you again!" I turn and run out of the mansion, heavy sobs hitching in my throat. 

Blindly I head into the nearest cemetery, doubling up in agony as a sharp pain streaks through my belly. I collapse against the nearest headstone, struggling to catch my breath, nausea building in my stomach. Broken-hearted and alone, I retch into the grass, wondering idly if the pain ever ends. 

End of Part Eleven 

_A/N ~ _Sorry for the excessive angst, but I was feeling in a particularly cruel mood *g*. However, I do have a happy ending planned…eventually. B/A forever!! 


	12. Answers

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE 

**Spike:**

I messed up. Big time. We're talking a cock-up of epic proportions here. Hitler's invasion of Russia was probably a better tactical manoeuvre than the one I pulled last night. I complain bitterly about the pouf always thinking things through too much, always agonising over every little detail. But now I wish I was a bit more like him, that I actually thought before I acted instead of just rushing headlong into whatever stupid plan takes my fancy. I am such an arse. A fucking brainless wanker. 

When those demons removed that chip it was the most incredible feeling in the world. Suddenly, I was free. I could do whatever I bloody well liked and best of all I could get revenge upon those fucking Scoobies for treating me like their pet puppy for so long. I was on a high. Finally, I had an outlet for that pent up aggression and rage and _evil_ inside me. It was like being a kiddie in a sweetshop – so many lives to take, so much blood and carnage to create, where to start? I had a glimpse of what Angelus must have felt after being freed from 100 years of domination by his poncey soul. Unfortunately, we all know how much of a prat Angelus Mark II was. 

And I fell into the same trap. The Slayer. Beautiful, powerful, untouchable. Angelus' obsession with her used to mystify me. After all, she's just another piece of meat, right? She's just another walking meal, albeit a more irritating one, since she's constantly ballsing up a bloke's dinner plans. But the more I see of her, the more I realise Angelus wasn't quite the nutcase he appeared. Well, okay, he was actually a complete schizo, but there were a few things he was right about. Or maybe one thing in particular: the Slayer – she is bloody magnificent. 

For a start she's completely hot. That tight, muscular body, those big, red, pouty lips, all that blonde hair. It's enough to give a guy a hard-on just thinking about her. Then there's the possibility of what she could do with that body (something Angelus knew intimately, the lucky bastard). She's so strong and lithe and supple and goddamn athletic. She's such a fiery little thing too, always running her mouth off, and boy, would I like to stick something in that mouth to shut her up. I would do anything, and I mean _anything_, for one night in the Slayer's bed. Stake me the next morning and I would die a happy man – in fact I'd be more than happy, I'd be fucking ecstatic. I'd be bouncing off the walls and begging for more. I'd be the most cheerful bloke in Hell.

But that's not going to happen now, largely because of my aforementioned utter stupidity. I had it good, an honorary place in the white hats' group, Slayer-sponsored protection from all sorts of demon nasties, regular source of cash from the Watcher, unlimited access to the chit herself. And now I've gone and blown it all, just because I couldn't think past the next twenty seconds of my eternal existence. I wanted Buffy so badly I thought I could take her by force and of course there was the added bonus of getting one up on my beloved Grandsire at the same time. I don't know how I thought the evening was going to end, at the very least I'd wanted a chance to get my rocks off, possibly with a little gratuitous torture thrown in there. I have to admit too, I'd hoped for a decent taste of Slayerblood (quite an addictive little elixir it is) and even for the chance to wake up the next day with a brand new childe. How much of a coup would that have been? Turning a slayer, having her as my eternal companion. Mmm, yes please. 

But there I go thinking with my dick again and experience has already proven how much trouble that can get me in. After all it did lead me to spend over a century trailing around after that insane bitch, Drusilla. Angelus taught her well, I'll give him that much, shame he had to drive her round the twist first, though. It's difficult to believe that I spent a good twenty years under the tutelage of that wanker, judging by my behaviour last night. Angelus' byword was always patience. Plan and plan and plan some more then wait for precisely the right moment. Drive your victims slowly over the edge and savour every sweet moment of it. Last night I rushed in like your proverbial bull in a China shop. I bashed the Slayer over the head and dragged her down to my cave to have my wicked way with her in a scheme about as sophisticated as your average Neolithic man's. Then when this highly elaborate plot failed spectacularly I got mad. 

I lashed out at the nearest victim, which just happened to be some tough guy mate of his grand poufy-ness. Only it turns out the guy wasn't so tough after all, not when he was begging me for mercy, anyway. I wanted to show Angelus that he hadn't beaten me, that I could still hurt him in other ways, but I suspect the only thing I will have accomplished is to guarantee my Final Death. I'm gonna get staked for this, no two ways about it. And I've just lost all chance I ever had of shagging the damn Slayer. She was just starting to come around to it as well. Another couple of months and I would have been right in there. And now I've fucked it up royally. 

"Bugger!" I hurl my empty beer bottle into the air and it smashes against the stone wall of a nearby mausoleum. The sound of breaking glass echoes throughout the graveyard, making the ensuing silence all the more eerie. As I listen to nothing in particular my sensitive hearing catches the faraway sound of weeping. Suspiciously, I head towards the noise, now unmistakeably that of a weeping female. My first thought is 'dinner' – distraught mourners always make for easy pickings. Then the weeping turns into hoarse screams and panicked yelling and instinctively I begin to run in that direction.

The screams form into words the closer I get. "Do you know who I am? I'm going to kill you!" And I recognise the voice. Summers. In trouble. I hesitate for a second, wandering what to do. The last thing I want is to see her killed by some fledging. It's gonna be me finishing her off or nobody. Reaching in my pocket for the stake I now routinely carry (there's nothing like being an electronically-rendered impotent vampire to put you at the bottom of the food chain), I hurry to confront the three vampires that have the Slayer surrounded. Unarmed and clearly in pain, she is desperately trying to fight them off, lashing out ineffectually with her feet and fists to no effect but the vampires' obvious amusement.

"Oi," I yell. "Get away from her!"

The entire group turns in response to my demand and Buffy, immediately recognising me, lets out a string of expletives explicit enough to shock even me. I raise my eyebrows and attempt a smirk. "Somebody been teaching you naughty words, Slayer?"

"Shut up!" She shrieks. "How dare you even show your face here again! If I had a stake then you would be dust right now!"

I look down at the weapon in my hand and toss it to her and automatically she catches it, a puzzled frown on her face. "There you go love," I shrug. "You wanted a stake – now you got one."

The other three vampires, looking distinctly more nervous now that their so called 'victim' has turned out to be an armed slayer, back away slightly. Buffy casts me a wary and hostile look then turns back to the immediate problem in hand. She manages to stake one of the vampires, but the other two finally show some common sense and leg it in the opposite direction. 

Not wanting to chance my luck in the vicinity of the Slayer any further, I follow the fledglings' example and make a hasty retreat myself. As I take refuge in a nearby crypt I cannot help but remember the crying that first alerted me to the Slayer's presence. However much I tell myself I don't care, I still can't help but wonder whether that was her weeping and if so, what the hell managed to get her so upset?

**Buffy:**

I limp home, a weak and confused mess. It feels like everything inside me is broken. My body, my heart, even my mind probably. Did Spike really save my life this evening after trying to end it twenty-four hours ago? Obviously, this is some new Hell he's cooked up for me. The results of some course in mind-games and psychological torture he took from Angelus. Arriving back at the house it occurs to me to get Willow around to do the de-invitation spell and, of course, Dawn will have to be told as well. She liked Spike, she trusted him, this is going to crush her. God, why is everything so hard, so difficult _all_ the time.

I evade Mom, telling her I'm not hungry and I won't be having any of the dinner she lovingly prepared four hours ago. I don't want her to see me in this state, cheeks hollow, eyes red, clothes covered in grass stains. She'll know something's wrong immediately, then she'll want to know what it is. She'll want to know the whole story of the apocalypse, and Angel tearing my heart into tiny shreds, and Spike sliding his cold fingers over my breasts, and Giles in the hospital, and Gunn's blood _everywhere_ and Dawnie not being real… And I can't tell her it all, she's sick, she has enough to worry about already. I'm the Slayer, I'm supposed to take on these things, I'm supposed to protect everyone else from the horror that really exists in this world.

I strip off my soiled clothes and stand in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. This is who I am. Buffy Summers. Sometimes I have to keep saying over and over again or I won't recognise the person who stands before me. I already don't recognise the world she lives in. 

My belly hurts again, a dull, nauseous ache, like somebody is reaching inside with long fingers and methodically squeezing my womb. I stare and stare at my body in the mirror, gazing at the colour contrasts. Pale skin, dark purple smudges beneath my eyes, plush, rosy nipples standing proud from my chest. And I know. I see into myself to the foreign presence that I suddenly realise is there and silent tears roll down my cheeks. Every hope I had for a better future disappears and with it goes every dream I had of Angel and I ever, finally, being together. 

Once again, my fate is sealed and I get no choice in the matter. 

**Riley:**

I am awake when Buffy knocks on my door at one in the morning. Probably something to do with spending half the day unconscious. I am not expecting anyone at that hour, however, so immediately my concern is raised. I worry that something else has gone horribly wrong, that there's another dead body to contend with. When I see Buffy standing there, looking pale and drawn, my heart leaps into my throat.

"What happened?" I ask anxiously.

She looks at me strangely, alarm in her eyes, like maybe I know something she doesn't, or worse, something she does know but I'm not supposed to. Then she relaxes slightly. "Nothing happened," she shrugs. "Earlier you wanted to talk and we never got the chance, so I thought I'd come over."

"It's a bit late don't you think?" I protest, gesturing towards the digital display on my clock. 

"Oh," she answers sounding a little dejected. "I hadn't really noticed."

I frown a little. Of course she hadn't noticed. That's one of Buffy's failings, she works on a different time span to everyone else. To her time is a foreign concept, something that affects the rest of the world and not her. She always behaves as if things like punctuality and lateness don't matter and she doesn't even wear a watch. I couldn't live like that, too much army training, I guess. I'm forever checking and rechecking the hour of the day, the day of the week, the week of the year. I have to have that precision, that routine governing my life. I couldn't bluster through vaguely as Buffy does.

"Do you want me to go?" She asks and I am suddenly struck by my rudeness. Putting it down to the surprise nature of her visit I quickly collect myself.

"No, no, not at all, come in," I step away from the doorframe and admit Buffy into the room. She paces around a bit, while I sit down, following her nervous movements.

"You know, you're gonna wear a hole in the carpet if you keep doing that," I joke. "You're already making me dizzy."

"Sorry," she stops in the middle of the room. "Riley, about that question you asked me…"

I take a deep breath in, suddenly nervous myself. So, this is the reason for Buffy's visit. She wants to answer my proposal. I am a little blown away by the abruptness of it – this morning she didn't seem decided at all and now she just turns up out of the blue with an answer. "What about it?" I reply.

"Well, I've been thinking," Buffy moves and sits down next to me. "And thinking and thinking, and talking to a few people," her face contracts into a frown as she says this and her eyes seem to fill with a wistful sadness. But the look is gone so quickly I'm not sure if it was ever there at all. When she looks back at me it is with a forced smile on her face. "And I made my mind up."

There is a long pause following her words, until eventually I cannot stand it any longer. "Buffy, you know, it's not just enough for you to decide you have to tell me the decision too."

"Yeah, sorry," she apologises again, wringing her hands in her lap. She looks down, studying something on her finger. Following her eyes, I catch a glimpse of silver, a ring of some sorts that she is anxiously twisting around. I notice it is on the third finger of her left hand and wonder whether this is a good or a bad sign. My grandmother used to have a superstition, she said if that finger wasn't kept only for wedding rings then you would never get married. Obviously, this is not something Buffy believes in. Or is it? I just can't tell anymore, her behaviour is so strange this evening. 

I reach over and grasp her hands in mine, stopping her fidgeting. "Well?"

She bites her lip and all at once a terrible certainty hits me. She's going to say no. I see it in her wild eyes filled with a haunted expression I can neither define nor explain and in her posture as she leans away from my touch, her shoulders tense and hunched. In that single second I am filled with an utter clarity of the like I have not known for months. Ever since I met Buffy I have seen the world in fuzzy shades of grey, but now everything is black and white once more. She doesn't love me. Doesn't need me. Doesn't want me. All of a sudden it is so completely obvious that it makes me laugh to think I never saw it before. Then she speaks, her voice scratchy and shaking.

"Yes. The answer is yes. I think we should get married."

Confusion crashes down on me like a wave once more and for a minute I think I have misheard. Did Buffy really just accept my marriage proposal? Is this really, truly happening? Then I realise that it actually is. Clearly, by instincts were totally wrong back then, Buffy does love me, she must do if she's going to be my wife.

"That's fantastic!" I draw her tightly into my arms. "I can't wait to tell everybody. My folks will be so pleased. I can't wait for you to meet them – "

She pulls away from me. "Uh, Riley, could we just keep this quiet for a little while. You know, at least until all this end of the world stuff has been sorted out."

I frown. "You mean until your ex-boyfriend has left town."

She turns her face away from me, speaking in no more than a whisper. "It's-it's just…difficult, that's all."

I am about to make some flippant remark when I see her wipe fiercely at her eyes. "Buffy, are you crying?" I grip her chin gently, turning her back to face me and see the tears glistening on her cheeks. "What's the matter?"

She shrugs, trying to smile, her bottom lip trembling as she does so. "Nothing's the matter. I'm happy. We're getting married. This is a good thing."

I break out in a grin. "It's a great thing. And I'm happy too. The happiest I've ever been." I pull her into a hug again and we stay like that for a long time as her silent tears soak through my shirt, dampening my chest. At first they puzzle me, but then I remember it's Buffy and everything about her is a little strange, her weird behaviour now is just par for the course. All that really matters is that she said yes and we're getting married and it's going to be forever. 

End of Part Twelve 

_A/N ~ _I know what you're thinking, but Buffy and Riley actually getting married – would I do that to you? Okay, probably I would, but just not this time. Again I must stress there is a happy (B/A) ending in sight, our heroes just have to face a little bit of angst first. Also if Buffy's 'illness' seems a bit cryptic and confusing to you, it's because it's supposed to. It won't take a huge inferential leap to work out what the problem is, though. Thanks once again for reading, bye now!


	13. Mansion

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

**Tara:**

I've often walked past the old house on Crawford Street and wondered who lives there or at least who used to live there. It has an energy about it – something dark and magical, but not entirely sinister. It seemed to me like there were so many stories behind those boarded over windows and that heavy front door, and now I know I was right.

Willow's told me the chronicle she and Xander refer to as the Angel/Buffy saga, of course, but she always spoke in vague terms about 'the mansion'. And the whole account took on a sort of fairy tale like status in my head. Forbidden love, tragic consequences, dramatic settings – it all appeared to me more like a romance novel than real life. Now, however, I've actually met Angel and seen him to be every inch the brooding hero Willow described him to be. And I'm standing in the very room where Buffy offered Angel her blood in order to save his life. 

It's almost enough to send a thrill through me, I can feel the residual power in the air, the forces of life, death and love swirling through the room's atmosphere. If I concentrate very hard, I can almost hear their voices as they argued, see their bodies falling to the ground in a deadly embrace. It's a power I've had ever since I was a child; the ability to sense traces of past events, etched into the surroundings. When I was nine we went on a school field trip, to the location of one of the famous battles of the civil war. All that was left was a field, filled with long grass and wild flowers, but when I stepped out into it I heard the explosions, saw the blood, felt the men's fear and agony. I cried so hard they had to take me home and I had nightmares about it for months afterwards. 

Trying to push the room's preternatural vibrations to the back of my mind, I deliberately focus on the more conventional details of the mansion. Essentially, it is the perfect residence for a vampire. Old, grand and classically gothic. Angel obviously has good taste too, for the furniture is antique and elegant and the room plushly decorated, although a little drab and dusty from misuse. Intellectually, I like the place, it fascinates the witch in me and appeals to my theatrical side. However, emotionally, I don't feel comfortable here. To put it bluntly, I'm spooked. Things are just a little too foreboding and the tension that hangs in the air doesn't help either.

Riley is obviously unhappy that the group's centre of operations has been temporarily moved to Angel's home. He is playing the part of the territorial male, emitting waves of hostility and keeping a tight hold of Buffy's hand at all times. Xander too has lost some of his cheerful edge, his dislike of Angel almost enough to match Riley's. Buffy, meanwhile, far from striving to keep the peace as has been her aim for the past few days, is unusually quiet. She seems to have withdrawn into herself, avoiding all eye contact and replying monosyllabically to any question asked of her. 

Angel's demeanour, on the other hand, is utterly calm and controlled. Just looking at him surveying his guests impassively and doling out formal courtesy to both Xander and Riley, reminds me of the saying 'still waters run deep'. Mostly, when I meet new people I can see into them, look at their auras and get a sense of who they are and what their personalities are like. Angel, however, remains a total mystery to me. One minute I'll think I've started to understand him, I'll catch his eye at an unguarded moment and see some raw emotion there. But in the next moment he changes completely and all my assumptions are shattered. Now, I am beginning to suspect that I'll never really get to know him, however closely I watch his actions and listen to his words. I won't know him, because nobody does – probably not even himself. 

"I'm bored." Anya announces to nobody in particular. "Somebody do something interesting."

"You wouldn't have any suggestions at all would you Anya?" Willow asks with a slight hint of impatience. Although normally the most tolerant of people, for some reason Willow has a much shorter temper than usual wherever Anya is concerned.

"Yes," Anya answers, once again failing to pick up on the sarcasm in Willow's tone. Xander claims he's explained the concept over and over to her, but Anya never seems to get it. She just keeps wanting to know why people don't just say what they mean in the first place and I suppose she has a pretty good point there.

"Xander could take his shirt off." Anya continues with enthusiasm. "I always find that makes things a lot more interesting."

Xander looks embarrassed by his girlfriend's behaviour. "An, remember that conversation we had about public nudity and how it's a _bad _thing?"

"Maybe we should just discuss the situation in hand," Angel interjects. "Then once we've worked out a plan of action everyone can get on with whatever they'd rather be doing." He glances briefly over at Riley and Buffy sat next to one another on one of the room's sofas. 

"You see, Anya," Willow says with mock sweetness. "You'll be able to have sex today, after all."

"Will," I berate her gently, reaching out to touch her on the arm.

"Sorry," she mumbles. 

"Now, has anybody got any ideas?" Angel asks.

Riley shifts his position slightly, squaring his shoulders and scanning the room before replying to Angel's question. "Well, it the biggest problem we've got is how to get the demons to meet back at the Hellmouth so we can sacrifice them all together."

Angel nods. "That is going to cause some difficulties. We'll probably have to do a spell to locate them in the first place, then maybe take them by force to the Hellmouth."

"I don't particularly relish the idea of kidnapping ten ferocious demons," Xander interrupts. "Do you?"

"We could always kill them, first and drag their bodies there," Anya suggests, looking immensely pleased with herself for coming up with a useful idea. 

"Except the demons have to still be alive when we sacrifice them," Willow points out.

Anya's face sets into a frown and I make an attempt to placate her, before an argument develops. "I-it was a good thought, though."

"How about a trap?" Riley chimes in. "Then want revenge on us for ruining their plans, so we could use a few group members as bait to lure the demons there."

Angel shakes his head. "Too risky. I'm not putting anyone in danger like that. Besides, we'd have no guarantee that all or even any of them would come."

Riley shrugs. "Well, then, I'm stuck. What can we do?"

"Spike," Buffy says so quietly Riley has to ask her to repeat it.

"What about him?" Angel asks in a hostile tone.

"He could lead us to the demons," Buffy explains. "He's had contact with them before – they were the ones who removed his chip."

"But why would he want to help us?" Angel replies. "He's not on our side anymore, remember?"

"That still doesn't mean he wants the world to end," Buffy points out. "I've teamed up with him before on that score."

There is an awkward silence in the wake of Buffy's reference to what even I realise to be a taboo subject of discussion. Spike helped Buffy defeat Angelus and now she's deliberately reminding Angel of the fact. The animosity of the gesture is startling and leaves me wondering what has happened between those two to deserve it. 

"Anyway," Buffy continues. "I think Spike might be willing to help us. He saved my life last night."

"HE DID WHAT?" Angel roars, the first real emotion I have seen from him since my arrival.

"I was stuck fighting a gang of vampires without a stake and he gave me one," Buffy unflinchingly stares down Angel's anger, a stark contrast to the nervous attitudes of the rest of the room.

"That still doesn't make him your best pal again," Angel responds acidly, but in a significantly calmer tone. 

"I know," she nods her assent. "But, he's our only chance of getting this plan to work, wouldn't you say?"

The next hour is spent discussing battle plans and strategy and the general ins and outs of how exactly our small consort is going to save the world once more. Most of the conversation is between Angel and Buffy, who seem to get on much better when there is business to be discussed and a larger problem to focus upon. The only source of contention that arises between them is over who will approach Spike. Angel refuses to let Buffy anywhere near him, whilst she argues that if anyone could persuade him to help it would be her. Willow suggests that Angel and Buffy go together, but Riley baulks at this idea, so the issue is left unresolved. 

The whole process still seems incredible to me, that we are actually sitting here discussing how to prevent the apocalypse and if we don't do it then no body else will. It is awe inspiring as well as terrifying to know that you are one of the few people that could stop the whole of the earth from being destroyed. And everyone here appears to be taking it in their stride – to them Armageddon is just another problem to be faced and solved. Of the others in the room, only Riley seems a little dazed by the goings on. Even Willow, who can be so shy and retiring sometimes, is actively involved in the conversation. She puts forward a stream of ideas, explaining them all clearly and concisely, and the group listens to her with respect. I squeeze her hand lightly, trying to show how proud I am of the contribution she is making. 

Eventually, Anya's constant complaining becomes enough to break up the meeting.We all agree to convene back at the mansion at nightfall, when hopefully Cordelia and Wesley will have returned from LA, so they can be informed of the plans we have made today. The time gap also giving Riley a chance to converse with his commando friends and try to broker their involvement in the scheme.

Willow stays behind a little while to talk in whispers to Buffy, but I am keen to get back out into the sunshine, away from the oppressive atmosphere of the room and the magic that seems to hang in the air like choking smog. Trying to find the front door again, however, proves a little complicated. I turn the wrong way down a corridor and end up in a strange room. Immediately, I am hit full force by vibrations of past events still held in the room's walls and I know straight away that this is where the vortex opened up to Hell and where Buffy killed Angel.

Darkness surrounds me, stealing my breath away from my body and I sense an overwhelming evil, like I have never experienced before – even by the true Hellmouth at the high school. There is also agony and pain. I taste salty tears and blood, catch the sound of whispered 'I love yous' and Buffy's wracking sobs. A dark shadow appears in front of me, and I feel rather than hear the echo of thousands of screams emanating from its swirling centre. 

For several long seconds I am frozen, staring into the black abyss, when suddenly a brilliant white light fills my vision. Instinctively, I raise my hands to shield my eyes against the blinding glare and, moments later, when I lower them again it is gone. All that is in front of me is an empty room, cold and bare, cobwebs strung across its ceiling like macabre Christmas decorations. Even the feeling has disappeared; all the emotions that were previously so strong have now just vanished. 

Still shaking from my experience, I turn and run out of the room, being careful this time to find the right way out into the fresh, late morning air. 

**Willow: **

As the meeting breaks up, Xander is drawn into conversation with Riley, whilst Angel has somehow been manoeuvred into an argument with Anya over when exactly the motorcar was invented. Angel claims it wasn't until about 1920, whereas Anya puts it at much earlier, around the turn of the century, because she remembers granting a vengeance wish against an unfaithful husband. His wife wished that he be run over by one of those newfangled automatic carriages, however they were so slow back then that Anya recommended she request that he be trampled to death by horses instead. But the woman wouldn't be persuaded to change her mind, so the wish was granted and Anya was proved right when the man ended up with injuries no more severe than a broken toe. Fortunately, for the wife, however – Anya explains – her husband's wounds later became gangrenous and he died from the infection.

Not really relishing the prospect of any more of Anya's scintillating vengeance stories I am glad when Buffy pulls me to one side for a tête-à-tête. We never got to properly finish our conversation yesterday, so I am glad of the chance to talk to her now. I am worried about her, she seems so mixed up about Angel and Riley and I'm afraid she might do something stupid. I understand how she still cares about Angel, but they've been down that route several times over and it's always ended in disaster. And now she could be at risk of throwing away her chance to be happy with Riley over a few lingering feelings of romance. 

Angel's a great guy. He's handsome, sensitive, loving, heroic, basically everything every young girl would dream of falling in love with. In fact I even had a slight crush on him myself once. Just a teeny weeny little crush, though. It was when he and Buffy first got together and everything seemed so overwhelmingly perfect between them. I used to wish I had someone like that, someone who cared that deeply about me, who would sweep me off my feet and look at me as if I were the most important person in the world to him. But it wore off when I realised that relationships are supposed to be give and take, two people making the effort to be with one another, not some fairy story of forbidden love. 

Buffy, however, doesn't seem to have learnt this lesson. Even though she has had her heart broken by Angel time and time again, she keeps on going back for more. A part deep inside of me sort of understands, knows that thrill you feel just when the person you love walks into the room. The way your insides tingle when you see them and your skin burns for their touch. And that part of me also knows the wrenching pain that tears through you when they leave. I don't want Buffy to suffer that again. I don't want to see the strong woman I care about so much reduced to a sobbing heap in my arms – she deserves better than that. I know Angel never sets out to hurt her, but somehow he always does. And she needs someone who doesn't just _want _for to be happy, but who actually makes it happen. 

"Will," she grabs my arm and guides me into the hallway. "I-I kinda have some news…"

I frown, wondering what it could be and why she is so nervous about telling me. "What is it?"

She hesitates slightly, her eyes wide and staring, frightened almost. Which, despite her dangerous lifestyle, is not something I'm used to seeing in Buffy. "Riley and I," she glances over her shoulder in Angel's direction. "We're getting married." Her inflection is flat, emotionless, and it jibes with the feelings I'd expect from someone who just got engaged. 

Despite my earlier rationalisations that Buffy should pursue a relationship with Riley, this news upsets me. I didn't actually want her to jump in and marry him, just to give the guy a chance and not break-up with him. Surely there must be some middle ground between harshly rejecting somebody and marrying them? Yesterday she was so certain of what she wanted. She claimed she was in love with Angel and however much I can't help frowning on that, I know her feelings can't have changed in just 24 hours. As much as I don't want her to have her heart broken by Angel, I don't want it broken by Riley either. 

"But yesterday you said…"

"Forget yesterday," she hisses at me, still with her eyes fixed on Angel. "A lot of things have happened since then."

I shake my head. "I don't understand. You said you loved Angel, that you could never marry – "

"Keep your voice down," she interrupts me frantically. "I don't want anyone else to know this Will – just you and me for now, okay?"

"Of course," I nod, still confused. "Did you talk to Angel then? I mean, you talked to Riley, obviously. What…what made you change your mind?"

She looks at me with eyes brimming full of tears. "I was stupid. Stupid, naïve and stupid a couple more times. Angel and I – we can never be…anything. I know what I'm doing here, Willow."

"But of you don't love him then you shouldn't marry him," I protest desperately. Two minutes ago I was convinced that the biggest mistake of my best friend's life would be to chase after an impossible love and now I think that maybe abandoning it will be even worse for her. Ordinarily, if she told me this news I'd have been pleased for her. She's a little young to get married yet, but that shouldn't really matter as long as both parties love each other and are determined to make it work. And what she said yesterday might not have even concerned me all that much if she wasn't staring at me now with such a sad, haunted look in her eyes. 

Buffy senses my worry and smiles at me reassuringly. "It's okay. I'm doing the right thing – trust me."

She squeezes my hand and turns to walk away, leaving me staring after her, still unconvinced. It's weird, but I have the strangest feeling that whoever spoke to me just then, wasn't Buffy. Well, clearly she was Buffy, because of the whole looking and sounding alike thing (also Faith is safely locked away where she belongs, so I'm discounting any gratuitous body switching scenarios). But to me, she was more like 'shell of Buffy', someone whose gone through too much in too short a time and has just given up. And giving up isn't exactly something I'm accustomed to seeing Buffy do.

It hurts a little inside to know that she has finally surrendered her love for Angel, that she has lost all hope in their relationship. I realise that it's for the best and it's what I've been trying to persuade her to do for months, but now she's actually said the words and accepted the truth, it means I have to face some facts too. Buffy and Angel had romance novel love – the kind that is difficult and painful, yet everlasting. Sometimes we all need to believe in that kind of feeling, we need the irrational certainty that true love exists and is worth fighting for to get us through the bad times and the lonely times and the moments of self-doubt. 

My head doesn't believe in soul mates. It dismisses the idea as silly or frivolous. I know in my mind that 'meant to be' doesn't exist and that relationships must be worked at. They only depend upon what two people are feeling at any one time. Sometimes feelings last, other times they don't, but they certainly aren't written in the stars. My heart, however, is a little more difficult to persuade. Deep down, I am still convinced that one day I'll suddenly stumble across Oz and they'll be no more barriers or problems between us. Someday in the future we'll have our time together.

For now I'm happy with Tara. More than happy, in fact. I feel incredibly lucky to have loved this deeply twice in my life and in so short a time. But there's always going to be a part of me that thinks 'what if?' – what if Oz wasn't the wolf? What if I'd never met Tara? What if he's managed to find the magicks he needs and is out there somewhere missing me? Occasionally, I'll let my mind drift and suddenly I'll look down and in my hands will be a spell book, turned to the section on werewolves. And I still know which nights are a full moon – it's just part of who I am. _He's_ part of who I am. 

And I know it's the same for Buffy and Angel, so it makes me sad to see it end like this. It kills some of that childlike belief inside me. With Oz and I at least I knew it was the right decision at the time. I'd lost one relationship, but gained another equally life altering one. But Buffy has practically admitted to me that she doesn't love Riley, so I can't possibly be convinced that her marrying him is a good idea. She needs to move on for the right reasons – because she's ready in her heart to do so, not because she's angry or hurt or resigned to unhappiness. If she doesn't make the right choice now then she'll only find herself regretting it in the long run. 

Agitated, I find my way out of the mansion, forgetting even to say my goodbyes to the others. I have just stepped into the garden, when Tara shoots out the door behind me looking seriously upset.

Suddenly, all thoughts of Buffy's dilemma fly out of my head. "What's the matter?" I ask anxiously. "What happened?"

She breathed deeply a couple of times, trying desperately to answer me but her words just coming out as stutters. "It's okay," I soothe, rubbing her back gently. "Just calm down a second."

"I-it's n-nothing," she finally manages to say. "S-s-s-silly really. S-sorry."

I frown, "It must have been something to bother you this much." She just shakes her head, so I prod further. "Tara?"

She looks away from me, hiding beneath her hair like she always does. Normally, it's just one in a long line of things I find utterly adorable about her, but today my concern overrides any possible cuteness factor. I deliberately brush away the hair, waiting for her to speak.

She gives me a small nervous smile. "I-I thought I saw something, that's all."

"Saw what? Where?"

"It was in the room where Buffy sent Angel to Hell," she answers with startling certainty.

"But how did you know where that was?" I ask, puzzled.

"I _felt_ it." She replies simply and I begin to remember that Tara's not like most other people I know. She has this kind of extra-sensory perception that I don't really understand, but have seen her use so many times. She knew when Buffy wasn't Buffy, and she can always tell what other people are feeling, even when they're just strangers on the street. I can do magic, and without appearing immodest I'm actually getting quite good at it – but I'm not a natural witch, not by any means, not like Tara is. She can do spells without learning them first and cast magic without even thinking about it, just feeling. So, when she claims something like this I believe her.

"What did you see?" I enquire more softly this time.

She waves her hands in the air, like she does when she can't think of the words to describe it. "There was this black shadow," she eventually says. "Then a brilliant white light, then nothing."

"What do you think it means? Or was it just echoes?" We've spoken about this before, how Tara can sense the history of a place, just by being there. Only it appears to be stronger when the emotions are stronger, or when she knows the people involved. 

Tara shakes her head. "There's something about this house," she tilts her head to one side, thinking. "Or maybe not the house. Maybe it's Angel. But whatever it is, the magic's very powerful and it's building all the time."

I give this a few seconds to sink in. Something wrong with Angel, something involving powerful magicks. "Oh no," I blurt out as my thought processes reach their logical conclusion. "You don't think…?"

"Think what?"

"That Angel could be in danger of losing his soul again."

**End of Part Thirteen**


	14. Denial

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

**Angel:**

After seeing Xander and Anya out of the house, I head back into the main room, hoping for a little time alone. I know seeing more of people does me good and that's something Cordelia, Wesley and, up until a couple of nights ago, Gunn are helping me out with. But I still need to take a break from it occasionally. I need my time to sit and think – well, to brood, I suppose – in between making the difficult effort to socialise. And at the moment there are rather a lot of things on my mind to brood about. 

But when I walk into the room, I find Buffy sat perched on the edge of the chaise, her head bowed shyly, looking for all the world like she never left. And I don't mean today, I mean months and months ago. Another time where I would come home from patrol and she would just be there, waiting for me or asleep in my bed, because the urge to see one another was just too great to resist even for a couple more hours. 

She turns her head in my direction and suddenly the spell is broken, I am catapulted forwards in time one and a half years and the reality of our current separation hits me hard in the gut.

"Buffy," I greet her guardedly.

"Angel," she responds in a small voice. 

"Was there something else?"

She nods. "Yes, I, uh, I kind of needed to talk to you in private."

I frown, the old ache in my heart starting to throb once more. "I thought we covered everything last night."

Her eyes flash with anger and for a second I think she is going to yell at me. But she doesn't and I am almost disappointed. So many people who know what I am tiptoe around me, like they're afraid if they make me mad I'll rip their head off or something. Buffy has never been nervous like that, quite possibly because she's stronger than me to start with, but more likely because that's just the kind of person she is. There's a fire inside her that I love – that I noticed as soon as I saw her and have always loved – so to see her deliberately douse down those flames bothers me slightly. 

"This is something different," she answers tentatively, standing up with her back to me and walking a few paces away. "I…" she begins then trails off. "Spike!" She whirls around, a vaguely hysterical expression on her face. "We need to sort out who is going to speak to him."

I know that's not all she has to discuss with me, because I know Buffy and I can tell that she is hiding something. But for the moment at least, I decide to play along. "You're not going alone to see him," I reply in a wary tone of voice, aware that this statement – a virtual command on my part – is likely to infuriate Buffy even more. 

To my surprise she doesn't argue at all, but instead issues her response in a rapid, staccato speech. "I didn't really think that you'd…well, I, uh, I thought you were going to say that. But I should definitely be the one to approach him. So, we should, um, go together. Yeah, I guess that's the only solution. If you're okay with that. That's okay, right?"

I raise my eyebrows. "That's fine. I just want you to be safe. But what about Riley?"

She sighs heavily. "Riley…"

"He seems a little uncomfortable with us being together," I try to put this tactfully considering what passed between Buffy and I yesterday. We were here in this very room, kissing, lips hot and insistent, her hands sliding over my skin… I swallow deeply, attempting to block this train of thought. Definitely not something that should be in the forefront of my mind right now. Not with Buffy standing only a few feet away from me, the curves of her body showing clearly even underneath the baggy sweater she is wearing, her lips slightly parted, her hair loose and unruly. 

"Riley's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," Buffy begins, hugging herself with too thin arms. She's lost some weight since I left and it piques my concern a little. Is it stress? Over exertion? Or is she simply just forgetting to eat? I want to offer to take her out to lunch somewhere, some little restaurant with tables out on the street, where we can talk and laugh and not worry about any of darkness that fills either of our lives. Then I remember than I can't. I can't even take her to that restaurant, let alone relieve any of her worries. The only thing I'm good for is adding to them.

"What about Riley?" I respond neutrally, trying not to let any of the jealousy that consumes me every time his name is even mentioned slip out. 

"I gave him my answer to his proposal last night," she refuses to look me in the eye as she speaks. "After we…well, you know…"

I nod, of course I know. We kissed, we exchanged words of love, we fought. It's the story of our relationship. Every single time we meet, we destroy another little piece of each other.

"I said yes," she whispers in a voice so low no human could have heard it. But the word thunders in my ears. _Yes_. For a second I don't understand what it means. Buffy's mine, isn't she? She can't possibly have agreed to marry anyone else. She gave me her body, her blood, her heart, her promise of forever. A voice inside me screams. _No! We belong together! I need her, so much…_

I struggle to keep the shock out of my expression, the shock and the anger and the heartbreak. Because I know I have no right to be feeling any of these things. Buffy gave me everything she had and I had nothing for her in return. I screwed her – literally and figuratively. I tore apart her entire existence and then I just left her to pick up the pieces. I can hardly blame her for moving on to someone else, can I? And yet, it hurts. It feels like somebody just slammed a red-hot poker through my insides, only worse, because that's physical pain and I know it will end and the wound will heal. This is an injury that's never going to get any better.

"I wanted to be the one to tell you," she gives me a small, apologetic smile.

"Thank you," I mutter meaninglessly, a triumph of automatic manners over rational thought. Thank you for what? For getting engaged to some meathead of a college student only hours after you said you loved me? Or maybe for managing to salvage some part of your life after I crushed your heart with my rejection. Pain works both ways and I suppose I can understand why Buffy is dealing with hers in this way. That doesn't mean I condone it, however.

I shake my head. "You're making a mistake."

"Why?" She asks with hostility. "Because I'm not spending the rest of my life moping after you. We can't be together, remember? You can't be around me!"

"This just isn't something you should be rushing into," I force myself to remain calm as I argue with her. "Marriage is a huge commitment."

"Yeah, I know," she adopts a sarcastic tone. "I've heard of it. It's where you exchange rings and vow to be together always, right?"

I recoil from her words slightly, unable to think of a convincing comeback. I know whatever I say will have no effect anyway. Firstly, our relationship is far too complex and confusing for any of my words to ever have objective meaning. Any criticism of Riley that I make Buffy will automatically assume to come from my jealousy and hatred of him. And she'd probably be right too. Secondly, Buffy has made her mind up and she is the most stubborn, bloody-minded person I have ever met. The more people argue against her, the more determined she will become to disregard them.

"Speaking of rings," she tries to carry off the same flippant manner, but her cracked voice betrays her. "I think you should have yours back." Her hands shake as she pulls the silver Claddagh I remember so well from her finger. She extends her palm out to me, with the ring balanced inside, waiting for me to take it.

I look down at the jewellery, recalling more clearly than ever the night when I gave it her. It used to be my mother's – it was one of the few things I took from my home in Ireland when I left it. Matching rings: one to wear myself, and one to give to my sweetheart. Two hundred and fifty years I kept hold of those rings. Kept them in a box of souvenirs from my kills as Angelus. Wore them on a chain around my neck when I had nothing more to my name than the clothes on my back. Never once thought of giving the tiny silver ring to anyone else – until I met Buffy, that is. 

I force my eyes to meet with hers, my gaze steady and surer than it has been all day. "Keep it," I answer. "It wasn't meant to be returned." 

Then I turn around and walk out on her, desperate to be alone with my thoughts. Aimlessly, I wonder through the dark and dusty rooms of the mansion, struggling harder than ever not to feel her presence in every single one of them. 

**Cordelia:**

"That's a total load of crap!" I explode at Willow, unapologetic for neither my bad language nor my hostile attitude. Wesley touches my arm reprovingly, but I shake him off. "Well it is!"

"You're not even slightly worried over Angel's soul?" Willow asks me anxiously, her hair bobbing about her face as she speaks. Idly I notice her split ends showing and wonder if now is a good time to tell her. 

"If I were working for a homicidal maniac, then I'd be worried," Xander's annoying ex-demon girlfriend butts in oh so usefully. "It would decimate your business' client base."

"Doesn't she come with an off button?" I complain exasperatedly. I'd forgotten exactly how annoying all these people are. And how biased against Angel. I really don't see what they have against him, well, apart from his long history of maiming and killing, of course. But that's all in the past. Can't they learn to forgive, be bigger people? 

"You know, when we're all dead. I'm not going to be here to say I told you so," Xander responds.

"Nobody is going to die!" I snap back at him. "Angel's soul is fine, thank you very much!"

"But, Tara…" Willow begins plaintively, except I interrupt her.

"Well, excuse me if I'm going to be just a teeny bit sceptical over the insane mumblings of some new age lesbo. Just because you're sleeping with her, Willow, doesn't mean her every word is – "

"Cordelia!" Angel growls. "That's enough!"

I immediately fall silent, knowing I have gone too far. Angel hasn't uttered a single word since Willow raised the concern over his soul, leaving the rest of us to argue it out. Now, though, he feels compelled to leap to the defence of the very person who was levelling the accusations in the first place. If only the others could see past Angelus to this person underneath, then maybe they'd be more willing to give Angel a second chance. 

"I-I, have to, um…uh, excuse me," Tara gets up to leave the room her cheeks flaming and I feel a pang of guilt.

"Sorry!" I call after her, feeling seven sets of eyes simultaneously glaring at me. "What?" I glare back at them – the patented Cordelia Chase 'if looks could kill' stare. "I've apologised already. What more do you want, blood?"

Xander looks about to make some facetious comment, probably some derogatory remark aimed at Angel, but upon sensing the tension in the room decides against it. Instead, Angel himself speaks. 

"I've had my soul for over a century," he reassures the group. "And it's highly unlikely I'm going to lose it again now."

"You lost it before, didn't you?" Riley interjects.

Buffy turns away abruptly and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. Has the guy got no tact whatsoever? Even I, who have upon occasion been accused of being a little forthright, know not to mention the totally taboo subject of Angel and Buffy's seventeenth birthday sexcapades. 

Angel hesitates slightly before gracing the lunkhead with an answer. "There were exceptional circumstances then. Circumstances, which we are all aware aren't going to be repeated."

"I should hope not," is all Riley manages to mumble in reply. 

"But, but, you understand why we're concerned, right?" Willow asks nervously.

Angel nods. "Of course, but I can assure you, it's groundless."

"Maybe there's another explanation for Tara's vision," Wesley suggests helpfully.

"Maybe," Willow looks unconvinced. 

"Why don't we discuss it with Mr Giles when we visit him in hospital tomorrow morning?" Wes continues to sweet talk Willow. How come he's never this charming with me? I swear it's the lesbian thing – one suggestion of any girl-on-girl action and guys just can't see past the end of their penis. 

"Well, if that's everything covered," I jump in before anyone else can speak. "Is it okay if I go now? There's a late night movie I was hoping to catch."

"Didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Cordy," Xander quips and I send a withering look in his direction. 

"Well, I might be, if dating you hadn't put me off sex for life."

"Then clearly I have performed a worthwhile service to all mankind," he shoots back at me. 

I advance towards him, the comeback of the millennium just about to spill from my lips, when Wesley grabs my arm from behind.

"Time to go I think, Cordelia."

"Hey, I haven't finished by argument with Xander!" I protest. 

"That is precisely the point of my removing you now," Wesley replies. "As much as I relish the idea of listening to your highly intellectual discourse, I really think we should be leaving now before the exchange degenerates into spit-balling and hair-pulling."

"I haven't finished with you yet, Harris!" I threaten as Wesley drags me out the door. Xander's only response is to stick his tongue out at me and wiggle his fingers in his ears. At the sight of this I flounce away, independently of Wesley's coaxing, and go to sit and sulk in the car. This day must rank one of the worst I have ever had. 

We spent the morning going through Gunn's things, since none of his 'crew' as he called them, seemed willing to do so. It was incredibly sad exactly how little he had. The only personal items were photographs and letters from his sister, which I kept, because I didn't think it was right they be just thrown away in the trash. They weren't just old scribbled notes and crumpled pictures, they were memories and I wanted to keep hold of them because of it. We handed out his weapons between his friends – because God knows they'll need them, the kind of hardship they face – and donated all the clothes we found to a homeless shelter. Then that was it, every trace of Charles Gunn wiped from the earth, almost as if he were never here in the first place. All for the sake of one angry vampire, _whom _I told everybody we couldn't trust. But did they listen. Oh no, nobody ever pays attention to Cordelia. She's just good for fashion advice and visions. That's it. That's all there is to me. 

I glance back over at the house, and the lighted window where the rest of the gang are still discussing the plan to save the world. I don't really have a movie to watch. I just wanted to get out of there because I felt useless. There was nothing I could do, no way in which I could contribute. Angel and Buffy are the fighters. Willow and Tara help out with magic spells. Riley co-ordinated with the soldiers, who were here earlier finalising the details of tomorrow night's demon massacre. Wesley gets to be book guy, Xander just manages to belong somehow and even Anya knows the odd esoteric fact from her 1100 years of life. But me, I just get in the way making stupid comments and irritating the Hell out of people. But on the plus side, I look damn good doing it, which is more than I can say for a few of the others. Somebody should tell that Tara girl that blue eye shadow went out in the seventies…

I turn to Wesley thoughtfully. "Do you think we'll do it? I mean, do you think we'll manage to save the world."

He smiles back at me slightly. "We've never failed before."

I roll my eyes at him. "But it only takes once doesn't it?"

He remains silent as he starts up the car and we drive away into the night. 

**End of Part Fourteen **

To be continued… 


	15. Deals

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

**Buffy:**

It feels weird heading out on patrol with Angel. Weird for a lot of reasons. Firstly, it brings back memories of other times spent like this. I'd forgotten how it feels just to have him hovering close behind me. Over the years Giles has spent hours and hours trying to get me to hone my inbuilt Slayer senses. He says I should be able to just reach out with my mind and feel the position of a vampire near to me. But even after all that practice, the only vampire I can achieve the trick with is Angel, and I think that's more to do with our relationship than any supernatural ability. Usually, I hate patrolling with anybody, but with him it's different. I don't have to even make an effort to be aware of his every move, I just know exactly where he is and what he's doing, as my skin and my gut and my unconscious mind can just sense it. And I feel totally safe with him, because I don't have to worry about protecting him. He can manage for himself, as well as take care of me, quite easily. 

So, I should be enjoying this patrol, revelling in the sight of Angel's lithe, graceful body as he quickly dispatches a fledging vampire that dares to cross our path, and secretly loving each little spark of electricity that jumps between Angel and I whenever we get too close to once another. And I would be enjoying it, apart from the terrible awkwardness that hangs in the air between us and the deep ache of guilt and pain that exists in my heart. Last night I told him I never wanted to see him again, which I guess was true at the time. I don't want to have to see him and be faced with the spectre of what I want so badly, yet can never have. 

It's easier when he's not around – he got that one right – because then I forget. I forget how my stomach flip-flops every time he walks into a room. I forget how his eyes are so incredibly intense that when he looks at me, I get the sense he can see straight into my soul. I forget how my lips become sore and dry and ache for the feeling of his upon them. I forget how strong his arms are, how hard his muscles, how soft his voice, how heart wrenching his distress. I forget how much I long to hold him, to touch him, to comfort him, to coax his frown into a smile, to stop him ever hurting again. Most of all, I guess I forget how much I love him. 

So, it's difficult to be here in the very graveyard where we spent so many hours innocently kissing, naively planning our futures together. It's hard to look up at the same moon that once witnessed our togetherness and know that it now sees us apart. I'm marrying Riley, because it's the right thing to do. It's the sensible thing to do. He loves me and he can give me a good life. We talked about it this afternoon. Riley wants to join the army again. He won't be special ops like he once was, he'll just be another average soldier going about his business on some military base somewhere. And once I'm his wife, I can go with him. 

It'll mean leaving Sunnydale and all my friends, but maybe that's a good thing. Once the Hellmouth is closed they won't need me here now, anyway. I'll be starting over again, just a normal girl and her normal family – it's everything I've ever wanted to be. And I can take Dawnie with me too, that way she'll be properly protected from Glory. I'd just like to see even someone as powerful as her break into a high security military compound and steal my sister away from me. It's the best solution all round really. 

"Angel," I break the silence that has stretched between us since we left the house. "When all this is over, I'm going to leave."

He twists around to look at me in surprise and I realise I have almost echoed his exact words from when he left me.

_("I'm not going to say goodbye. I'm just gonna go…")_

"Riley," I continue hesitantly. "He, uh, wants to join the army again. Get a transfer somewhere with them and I'm gonna go with him. It'll be nice – we'll get to travel all over the world. I always wanted to see Europe."

He briefly flicks his eyes over in my direction before turning back to study the ground. "It's not that special."

I shrug. "Well, anyway…"

"Let's just find Spike, shall we," he interrupts abruptly. "I'd really like to get this finished."

I nod in agreement. "You're right. We should finish it now."

We lapse back into silence, wandering the cemetery in search of our quarry. Every action is familiar and yet totally different, because where there used to be an inherent closeness between us, now there is only a yawning distance. Angel touches me briefly on the arm to catch my attention and I recoil in shock, pulling away from the burning sensation of his fingers on my skin. 

He nods in the direction of a nearby crypt, communicating to me that Spike is in there. I don't ask how he knows this – it's probably a vampire thing that I wouldn't want to hear about anyway. Silent predators, we move slowly across to the mausoleum, I with a stake firmly gripped between my fingers, Angel sliding automatically into game face. 

Angel smashes open the door and in a blur of movement has Spike pinned up against the opposite wall by his throat. There is a sound of smashing glass as Spike's beer bottle falls to the floor, its contents spreading out in a sticky puddle.

"Well, well," Spike speaks as best he can, considering he is in one of Angel's death grips. "If it isn't the Slutty the Vampire Slayer and her fairy godfather."

"Let him down, Angel," I say, worried that too much violence towards Spike might antagonise him and make him refuse to help us. "He's not going anywhere." Reluctantly Angel throws Spike on the ground, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from the younger vampire, which I can't help but derive a little perverse pleasure from. Obviously, _some_ violence is all right and perhaps even mandatory in Spike's case.

" I've been expecting you two." Spike mutters from his position slumped on the ground.

"You couldn't have tidied up the place a little before we came then?" I quip, surveying his debris-strewn lodgings. 

"Sorry, love," he replies, climbing to his feet. "The cleaning lady only comes twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"Well, it's good to know that they'll be somebody to sweep up your dust after we stake you," Angel growls and I flash him a warning look. The last thing we need is for his temper to get out of control and result in the death of probably our only chance of saving the world. 

"Of course," I remark in a conversational tone. "We wouldn't have to stake you if you agreed to help us with a little something."

"What's that, love?" Spike feigns disinterest. "Soldier boy pissing you off already. Because, I'm sure Angelus here would be more than happy to take him out for you."

I swallow down my anger and force myself to smile sweetly instead. "Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of you getting in contact with a certain group of demons hell-bent upon destroying the earth."

Spike regards me suspiciously for a moment. "And what makes you think I would have any idea where to reach said demons?"

"Well, they were the ones who took that chip out of your head, weren't they?" Angel interjects.

Spike nods guardedly. "Yeah, but they approached me, not the other way around."

"So, you haven't a clue where there are?" Angel asks.

Spike shakes his head. "Not the foggiest, mate."

"Oh, well then, I guess you're no use to us alive then," I raise my stake threateningly and Angel, picking up my cue, mirrors the action. 

"Hang on, hang on," Spike backs away from us, holding both his hands up in the air. "Maybe I could ask around, see what I can arrange for you."

"Maybe?"

"Definitely," he corrects himself. "And if I do this then I don't get staked, right."

I glance over at Angel who doesn't look particularly impressed by the idea, but eventually nods. "Right," I agree. 

"That's an absolute promise is it?" Spike asks suspiciously. "Because I don't want to fulfil my part of the agreement then have you two reneging and deciding to have a little 'let's dust Spike' party after all."

I roll my eyes, sighing heavily. "I promise I won't stake you, Spike."

"What about lover boy over there?" Spike nods in Angel's direction. 

Angel flashes me a dark look then spits out his own guarantee. "I give you my word."

Spike perks up a little. "How's about throwing in a little extra incentive then. A bit of slap and tickle with the Slayer here would significantly improve my work ethic."

Angel growls audibly, his expression of complete fury enough to make even Spike nervous. "Alright, alright, I get your point. I promise to be a good little vampire. Now what was it you wanted me to do?"

**Giles:**

The hospital room is packed to the rafters and the chattering of all my visitors is beginning to give me a headache, but that still doesn't stop me being incredibly glad they're all here. It has been terribly lonely in hospital these past few days, enough to make me look back at my life and regret some of the things I've missed out on. I would have liked a wife and a family, but somehow it just never happened for me. I was too wrapped up in my books, I suppose, too drawn up into the world of mythical monsters and musty tomes to ever bother with dating and all its related pursuits that I found equally trivial. But now these children – or rather adults, for they have grown-up into the most wonderful young people one could ever hope to meet – are my family, and to have them around me again is truly the best medicine I could hope for. 

Ever since Willow, Xander and Buffy arrived this morning there has been a steady stream of people in and out of my room, lightening my spirits immeasurably. Wesley popped in to give his regards and pass on those from Angel and Cordelia. Anya came, armed with a pineapple – in order to hold up the tradition of giving fruit to sick people – watched half an hour of cable television then left again. Tara even dropped by briefly to give me the very kind gift of a healing talisman, something she made herself especially to promote my recovery. Despite my initial reservations about her and Willow's relationship, I am beginning to very much like that girl. She is a little shy and retiring, but she has a huge heart with a tremendous amount of love in it. It would seem that Willow managed to pick a better match for herself than any of us ever could have managed. 

Also amongst my visitors this morning was Riley. He came before all the rest and shocked me by asking my permission to marry Buffy. He explained that for as long as he'd known Buffy he'd seen her treat me as much as a father as a Watcher and that he wanted to know that I approved of the marriage before entering into it. As flattered as I was to discover that Riley saw me in such a light, I had tremendous difficulty responding to the question. Firstly, it seemed to come completely out of the blue. I'd understood that Buffy and Riley were, and excuse me if my vernacular is incorrect here, only dating. It's natural for young girls to have boyfriends in college, with the emphasis on the plural. As little as I'd like to see Buffy parading from one man to another, I'd always thought she'd at least meet different people, learn to live in the world a little, before jumping into marriage with the first boy she met. 

In fact I think I would have been less surprised if it had been Angel coming to me to ask for Buffy's hand in marriage, even though they've been split up for over a year now. But Buffy always seemed to throw herself into her love affair with Angel in a way she never has done with Riley. He filled her entire life and heart and when she was with him she was inclined to do rash, impetuous things like rush into sex or get engaged. With Riley, however, she's always seemed more measured in her affection, more mature. And I never even imagined their relationship was serious enough to make marriage an option.

Eventually, I think I gave Riley some line about his not needing my permission. Buffy is her own woman, I told him, as independent as they come, and the only opinion that matters in this situation is hers. Riley looked a little disappointed by this verdict, as if he wanted me to say something more, something along the lines of how pleased I was for them both or how happy it would make me. I couldn't say either; because they would both have been lies. Honestly, I think Buffy is too young to get married and even if she wasn't, I don't believe Riley would make her a good enough husband, anyway. He is a very polite and charming young man, the epitome of responsibility and reliability, but he doesn't really match very well with Buffy. He doesn't appear to fully understand what it means for her to be the Slayer and the lifelong commitment that is for her. But then maybe I'm wrong, maybe he's the perfect match for her and I just can't see it. I sincerely hope so, anyway. 

These worries have been nagging me all morning, all through Xander's mindless chatter and Willow's worried diatribe over Angel's soul. Strange that she should be the one to exhibit the most concern over the issue, whereas Angelus' reappearance would most likely affect Buffy and Angel's LA associates the most significantly. However, I suppose that Willow feels a little responsible over Angel's soul, since she was the one to return it to him the second time over. She is probably concerned that she made a mistake with the curse, which is only just beginning to show itself. To that end I reassure her – she did everything correctly when it came to restoring Angel's soul and whatever is going on now, if anything, has nothing to do with her.

Far from being comforted by this, though, it only gets her more agitated. "You really think there could be a problem then?" She asks anxiously. "That Angel is in danger of losing his soul?"

I sigh deeply. "What exactly was it you say Tara saw again?"

"A dark swirling shadow then a brilliant bright white light," Willow answers confidently. "Do you think that's significant, because I could try researching it."

"I think you have enough to worry about at the moment what with tonight's confrontation against the demons," I remind her. "Is everything ready for that?"

"Oh, yes," she nods. "Tara and I stayed up late last night preparing the spell ingredients. Buffy and Angel made the arrangements with Spike. And everyone else spent the evening stockpiling weapons."

"And may I just add here exactly how many fun-filled hours of entertainment can be gained from the simple practice of stake whittling," Xander interrupts from his position in front of the television. Apparently cable is not something he can afford, so he has decided to make up for lost viewing hours by taking up station in my hospital room. 

"Well, next time you can go and negotiate with the evil perverted vampire and I'll stay home making the stakes," Buffy replies sarcastically.

Ignoring both of them, I turn back to Willow. "Have you practised the chanting? Some of those Latin pronunciations can be quite tricky, you know."

"They're fine," Willow smiles broadly. "It's a pretty simple ceremony, which is actually a little worrying considering its world ending effects."

"You shouldn't underestimate these things," I lecture. "One small mistake and everything could go wrong. Remember you can't possibly be over-prepared."

"It's all under control Giles – stop being such a worrywart," Xander interrupts. 

"Well, isn't there something left to be getting on with?" I ask, looking pointedly over towards Buffy, who is gazing distractedly out the window, and trying to hint that I'd like to be left alone to talk with her. Willow looks at me strangely as I tilt my head in Buffy's direction, miming a conversation using my hands as mouths. 

"Umm, sounds like?" Xander makes a joke of my actions, causing Buffy to turn around again. "Are those ducks?" He continues. "I know, I know! It's the movie with the kids' ice hockey team, right? The one with Michael J. Fox in it."

I drop my hands and shoot him a withering look. "Just forget it."

"Oh!" Willow has suddenly caught my meaning. "Uh, I remember what we forgot to do! Chicory, we need more chicory – you know, for the burning and stuff. They were all out when we went to buy some last night. Apparently, there's been a rush on it lately – kind of like a chicory fad."

"And there was I using basil in all my spells," Xander quips. "I am so behind the times."

"We have to go and fetch some now," Willow insists, grabbing Xander's arm. "Before the shop shuts."

"At one o'clock in the afternoon?" He asks incredulously.

"It's, uh, half-day closing because of, um, the owner's birthday! Yeah, that's right, it's his birthday and they're having a big party, so we have to get there before everybody leaves." Willow drags Xander towards the door. "Now, c'mon." 

"I'll come too if you want, Will," Buffy offers and her face falls dramatically.

"No, uh, no. It's really more of a two person job," she hurriedly exits the room. "Bye!"

Buffy raises her eyebrows at me, and smiles. "You know if you wanted to talk, then you could have just said so."

"Yes, well, er, quite." I stutter back meaninglessly in reply.

"So, what's up?" She settles down in a chair next to the bed. 

I think for a few moments about how to broach the subject and unable to come up with some tactful way to introduce it, I decide instead to go for the direct approach. "I thought we might discuss a few things. Like your engagement to Riley for instance."

She pales visibly. "Did Willow tell you?"

"No, Riley did."

"Riley?" Buffy sounds surprised.

"Yes, he came to ask for my blessing this morning."

"Your blessing?" She repeats. "What did you say?"

"That it wasn't anything to do with me."

Her expression turns hard. "Then you were right. It isn't."

"I just wanted to talk to you about it," I say softly. "See if you were sure."

She nods. "I'm sure."

"Really?" I try to provoke a reaction from her, something other than what appears to be a calculated indifference. She is tremendously calm about all this, a distinct contrast to her usual hotheaded, impassioned manner. "So, Riley is the proverbial one then is he? The person you want to spend the rest of your life with, that you truly deeply love, that you never want to be apart from."

"Yes," her voice is steady when she speaks, but her hands clench and unclench in her lap and her eyes focus anywhere but on me.

"You love him more than you did Angel then?" I ask, knowing the effect the question will have on her and not being disappointed.

"Don't bring him into this!" She yells shrilly. "This has nothing to do with him."

A nurse pops her head round the door suspiciously. "Is everything all right in here?"

I nod. "Everything's fine, thank you." The nurse looks unconvinced but eventually leaves after warning us once again to keep the noise down. When she is gone I turn back to Buffy. "You know, I never got married because I never found that one person who I knew I absolutely couldn't live without. But that doesn't mean I don't believe she isn't out there. You're still so very young, Buffy – young and beautiful and a wonderful personality – you don't have to compromise."

"But what if I do?" She asks in barely a whisper and suddenly a horrible thought occurs to me.

"My God, Buffy, you're not…?"

She looks up at me with tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Giles. I let you down again. I never meant to…" she takes a deep breath, collecting herself and smiling up at me. "It's okay, though, because I have everything under control. I know what I'm supposed to do."

She squeezes my hand tightly in hers, before getting up the leave the room. "Buffy," I call after her. "This is forever, you do realise. Just be certain you're making the right choice."

She turns around in the doorway, shaking her head. "There are no other choices. It's too late for that. Besides, nothing is really forever."

**End of Part Fifteen**


	16. Battle

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

**Willow:**

We stand together in a nervous group in the old library, the anticipation weighing heavily on our shoulders. A miscellaneous crowd of soldiers, college students, ex- and present demons, not to mention a former cheerleader and a very stuffy Englishman, all waiting to be catapulted into a life or death situation. This battle could decide the future of every single person on the earth and yet it is not thoughts of the fight that consume me. I keep looking around the blackened room and remembering all the little things that passed in here. The stacks used to be over there, where I once caught Cordelia and Xander kissing. And I can place exactly the former location of the book cage, where we used to lock Oz when he turned wolf. But these small recollections are nothing compared to the echoes of conversations that bounce off the walls into my mind. We have all experienced so much anguish and happiness and love and heartbreak here, and as much as we think we have moved on we keep being drawn back to this exact spot. Maybe it isn't just demons the Hellmouth attracts. 

Tara touches my arm, jolting me back into reality. I check my watch. Eleven twenty-nine. The ritual is supposed to be performed at midnight, which only gives us another half hour to kill all the demons. I can't help worrying about how fine we are cutting things.

"Don't you think Spike should be here by now?" I ask Buffy anxiously.

"Don't worry – he'll show," she replies. "He values his miserable unlife too much."

"Isn't there a chance he's just bailed on us?" Cordelia suggests, not particularly helpfully.

Angel shakes his head, his eyes dark. "He won't. I gave him my word I'd hunt him down and kill him if he tried."

There is an uncomfortable silence in the wake of Angel's violent intensity, which Buffy breaks with affected cheerfulness. "So, is everybody prepared?"

There is a series of nods and muttered agreements. "We're all A-okay in the magic corner," Xander looks up from the pile of supplies he is guarding. "What say you head-Wicca-gal?" He turns to me and I scrunch my nose up in a frown.

"There are just a couple of things I'm a little worried about. Everyone knows about the barrier spell, right?"

One of the soldiers speaks up. "The what?"

Buffy turns to Riley impatiently. "I thought you explained all this to them."

"I did," he insisted. "It's just that magic is still a bit of a foreign concept to most of the recruits. They're having a bit of trouble understanding."

"Well, they've got about thirty seconds to learn." She snaps.

Sensing the tension I step in with about my fourth explanation of the spell I decided to cast this afternoon, in order to raise our chances in the battle. "I'm going to create a magical shield around this whole building," I distil the details of force-fields and energy flows down to the simplest account of their final effects. "Basically, it will prevent any creature from entering or leaving the high school, from the moment it is set up to the moment we stop the spell. This means once the demons have arrived they won't be able to escape."

"But won't we be stuck here too?" Another soldier enquires.

"Essentially, yes," I confirm. "But since it's us doing the spell, then we can end it at any time. So, if something goes really wrong we'll be able to get out of here. Now I just need some volunteers to help with the chanting."

There is a deadly silence, until Anya pipes up. "Oh, I can help. I'm good at chanting. In fact, Xander says I am generally good at anything that involves making excessive noise."

I smile gratefully at her, for once actually softening towards Anya. Scanning the crowd, I wonder who else I can inveigle into the task. None of the soldiers seem either willing or able. Buffy and Angel will be fighting. Tara is helping me with the ritual. Wesley and Xander have agreed to keep the demons away from us as we cast our magic. And that leaves only… "Cordelia!" I exclaim enthusiastically. "You'll help won't you?"

She manages to look absolutely horrified by the idea. "Not if I have to work with Little Miss Screw Xander Senseless."

Anya is about to protest when Wesley steps in graciously. "Really, Cordelia we would all be most grateful if you would do this. It absolutely is an essential task." He leans over to whisper conspiratorially in her ear. "Besides, I believe your help may be needed to keep Anya focused."

She breaks out into a pleased smile. "Well, if it's really _that _important…"

"Great! That's settled then," Buffy jumps in before any other objections can be made. "We're all ready on the slice 'em, dice 'em and throw 'em into the Hellmouth side," she continues, brandishing an axe. "So, I guess all that's left now is to wait for Spike."

"What did you tell him to do exactly?" I ask.

Buffy shrugs. "Just to get the demons here however he could."

Riley frowns. "What do you think he'll do?"

He has barely finished the question when a loud yell echoes from the corridor outside the library. "Incoming!"

Seconds later Spike barrels through the door, at least twenty angry demons on his tail.

"Whoa, guess Spike came through after all." Xander remarks, his eyes widening in fear as the demons stop in the middle of the room, their six foot forms bristling with fury when they realise they have been led into an ambush. 

"CHARGE!"The lead commando yells, directing all the soldiers straight into battle. The level of activity in the room immediately increases one hundred fold, as shouts of pain and victory ring out and bright blue bolts of electricity from the soldiers' tazer guns fly through the air. 

"Remember to sacrifice them alive!" I shout uselessly into the melee. But nobody hears me. Turning my attention instead to other matters, I quickly shove a piece of paper with a written incantation on it into Cordelia's hands. "Just keep repeating this," I tell her. "Don't stop, whatever you do."

She and Anya briefly fight over who gets to hold the cue card, until I glare at them fiercely and they begin to chant sheepishly. 

Almost immediately, I sense the mystical barriers starting to go up around the building and am pleased to see one demon try and escape out of a window, only to bounce back off an invisible force-field and fall to the floor. Another demon flies past me, kicked by Buffy, who, in the intervening lull between attacks, turns around to grab hold of a rapidly retreating Spike.

"Did you have to make them this mad?" She shouts in his ear.

"I got them here, didn't I?" He yells back at her. "What else did you expect me to do? Invite them to a little moonlight soiree where they got to be the appetiser? Plan a quiet evening of dinner and dancing around the mouth of Hell?" He shrugs. "I figured if I pissed them off enough they'd chase me – and I was right too. I honoured my end of the bargain – now it's your turn to let me go."

"Oh no, you don't," Buffy shakes her head. "Not until you've pulled your weight in the fight. Here," she shoves a weapon in his hand. "Demons. In. Pit. It's not really a difficult concept." She shoves him roughly from behind, pushing him into the battle before jumping back in herself.

Tara's hand on my shoulder makes me jump and I tear my eyes away from the carnage in front of me, instead turning my attention to the most vital task of the evening. Re-casting the ritual. 

**Buffy:**

Demons seem to be coming at me from all sides. I had no idea there were actually this many. I kick one out the way, sending it sprawling to its knees then easily dodging another's spiny claws by executing a swift flip over to one side. Vaguely, I register that there is more than one species of demons here, not all of them members of the initial group that cast the ritual. Thanks Spike. I always knew he wasn't exactly a favourite amongst Sunnydale's non-human society, but did he have to bring nearly every single one of his enemies here tonight for us to fight?

Landing next to Wesley, who is carefully shooting crossbow bolts at any demons not involved in hand to hand combat, I quickly remind him to protect Willow and Tara at all costs. If they don't get the ritual done then all this fighting will have been pointless. The message received and understood, I rush headlong into the fight once more, leaving Wesley and Xander steadfastly guarding the spell casters' little corner. 

A demon rushes up on my left side and I reward it with a punch in the face. It shrieks and clutches at its eye, allowing me the opportunity to pummel it with further blows, knocking it flat on its back near the edge of the Hellmouth. Bending over, I place my hands on its body, pushing sharply in order to roll the demon over and down into the abyss. Pleased with myself, I stand up again, slipping easily back into fighting stance. One down, only about twenty more to go. 

I work my way gradually across the room, feet and fists flying, conscious of little else but the sea of demons throwing themselves at me, and their ultimate decimation. After a while I give up trying to throw them in the Hellmouth myself, instead leaving their unconscious bodies on the ground for the soldiers to dispose of. Suddenly I feel a sharp pain in the back of my neck and fall to the floor. Landing on my hands and knees, I twist abruptly round to see a particularly nasty demon looming over me, a smirk on its face. It reaches out clawed hands towards my neck and pins me in a stranglehold, oblivious to my wriggling and kicking in an attempt to get away. 

My head begins to go light as my airway is cut off. My struggles grow weaker and I close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable to overtake me, hoping against hope that even after my death we go on to win the battle and save the world. Then, after what seems like an eternity of oxygen deprivation, the demon's grip loosens. It issues a loud scream and I open my eyes once more, looking up straight into Angel's determined gaze. He lowers his axe, the blade tarnished with demon blood from where he just sliced off the creature's arm. Then with a last glace to check I'm okay he drags the demon to the edge of the Hellmouth, pushing it in then throwing its severed arm after it. 

I climb swiftly to my feet before I can become victim to another opportunist demon. The fighting is easier now, however, with demon numbers significantly reduced and I start to hope that maybe we are winning. Willow and Tara's chanting soars and the adrenaline floods through me as I deliver a powerful roundhouse kick to another demon, spinning around to punch his fighting partner in the gut just seconds later. I do a quick head count of demons and see only half the original number of demons left. Angel has taken on two, Spike has one in stranglehold and Riley is wrestling with another. Three soldiers have one easily cornered, Xander and Wesley are fighting one more and the last two are the focus of any remaining commandoes' attention. Only a few more minutes to go and then we'll have done it. We are so close to victory.

I allow myself to start enjoying the battle, a thrust here, a parry there. The demon falls to the ground. Nearly done now. I briefly look up from my quarry, gauging the positions of the other's once more. Angel seems to be doing fine; having abandoned his axe in favour of brute force he is now down to only one opponent. The soldiers are all okay too, their high-tech weapons proving extremely useful. Riley, on the other hand, I realise with a shock, appears to be in a little trouble. My movements freeze as I watch him fall to the ground dangerously close to the edge of the Hellmouth, dragging the demon he is fighting down with him. The two roll over together, each lost in the fight, the demon appearing to have the upper hand as it uses its sharp claws to scratch deep ridges into Riley's torso.

In one last desperate attempt to get the upper hand, Riley clamps his hands around the demon's throat, trying to pull himself up on top of the creature. Their bodies twist together on the ground, the sideways movement causing them to roll closer towards the Hellmouth. For one long, agonising second they balance precipitously on the lip of the chasm. Then, almost in slow motion, they topple down together into the depths of Hell. 

**Spike:**

I slam the face of the demon I am fighting into the ground, actually starting to enjoy myself. It has been ages since I ended up in the middle of a good punch-up. Admittedly, they're usually the most fun when you're a little drunker, but I'll take on some gratuitous demon-bashing any day of the week, even if I am helping the white hats out at the same time. 

Some idiot soldier points his tazer gun at me and I whip it out of his hand, before he even realises what's happening. Bloody Americans – they'll let any halfwit into their army nowadays. I break his nose with the weapon, following up with a swift kick to the balls. Ha! That'll teach you for putting a chip in my damn head you Yankee bastard! The commando crumples up in pain, collapsing easily to the floor.

Pushing his prone body out of the way, I turn back to the demon I was busy thrashing, only to find it unconscious too. Disappointed I scoop it up, ready to dump it in the Hellmouth, like a good little Slayer's pet should do. But before I can toss the thing away I glance down into the crevasse. Clinging at the top is Captain Cardboard himself, the Slayer's current squeeze. My first instinct is to kick him in the face and watch him drop down into Hell – just for the fun of it really. Then I catch Summers herself watching me from across the room, her eyes wide and staring, and sighing loudly I bend down to offer soldier boy my outstretched hand. The things a bloke will do for the opposite sex.

"Go on take it, you wanker," I wave my hand in Finn's direction, puzzled by his lack of movement. If I were hanging by my fingertips over the mouth of Hell then I'd be pretty quick to accept any lifeline offered to me. "It's okay. I won't bite."

Riley shakes his head grimly. "I don't trust you," he gasps through the pain of holding his body in place with just the strength left in his arms and shoulders. 

"Tough luck, mate," I reply. "Because I'm all you got right now. Now I'm trying to do you a favour here. Just take my fucking hand!"

He dislodges his grip from the rock face, reaching out tentatively to me with outstretched fingers. I lean as far down as I dare, my fingertips just meeting his. Before I can get a decent hold however, his other arm gives way and he falls down into the darkness, his palm grazing straight past mine as he slides out of my grasp. 

His yell echoes off the walls of the abyss, fading gradually away as he falls deeper into nothingness. I shrug, muttering to myself. "Oh well, never mind. One less complete prick in the world."

Climbing back up to my feet, I look back at the Slayer. She has turned her face away once more and is fighting two demons with desperation. Her blows are wild and uncontrolled and totally lacking her usual deadly precision. Quickly, I dispose of my unconscious demon, deciding to make helping the Slayer my last good deed of the evening. But before I can cross the room to help her a blur of putrid purple flesh rushes past me, swiftly followed by another running figure this one a lot more familiar. Angelus, in pursuit of whatever minion of Hell thought it could get away with making the Scourge of Europe mad. I turn to follow the outcome of the chase – this promises to be entertaining.

The demon rushes straight into that annoying young upstart friend of the Slayer's – the Harris boy – who, with the help of Watcher Mark Two (the new improved version with added stuffiness), slams a crossbow bolt into its neck. But while they are occupied dispatching Angelus' escaped prey, the demon they had previously forced back into a corner begins to advance again towards the group of chits in the middle of spell casting. The demon launches itself at the mouthy one with the long dark hair, tackling her to the ground. She stops her chanting with a loud scream and there is a definite change in atmosphere as whatever mystic conjurings they were working on slip out of existence. 

Angel roars loudly as he throws himself at the demon, pulling it off the struggling Cordelia and launching himself into a tooth and nail fight with the creature. They wrestle their way around the area, nearly upsetting the redheaded witch's cauldron of spell ingredients as they do so. A snapping of bones, unmistakably the demons not Angelus', and a spray of yellow-tinted blood, convince me that this particular fight is pretty much decided, so instead I head over to help Buffy instead. 

Twisting around, I look over to where the Slayer and the two demons were battling sixty seconds ago. One of the demons lies unconscious on the ground, but the other has Buffy pinned up against the wall. My lips have barely had chance to form the word "NO!" when the demon forms its hand into a tight fist, pulling backwards and then thrusting one of the large spines on the back of its hand into Buffy's chest. She collapses to the ground, a bright red bloodstain spreading across the front of her shirt. 

Incensed, I rush over and pummel at the demon mercilessly, pounding my fists into it until it falls limply to the floor. With an angry yell, that is lost in the cacophony of frantic chanting, I raise the demon's battered form above my head, tossing it bodily into the Hellmouth, making it – with the help of the commandoes and the rest of the Slayer's motley crew – the final demon to be sacrificed. 

**End of Part Sixteen**

** **

To be continued… 

_ _

_(A/N ~ Yay! I sent Riley to Hell! Hurrah!)_


	17. Aftermath

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

**Angel:**

** **

****Willow and Tara's chanting reaches a deafening crescendo, their voices seeming to join with thousands of others plucked straight out of the ether. The air in the small room begins to swirl in a spinning vortex that whips the two witches' hair away from their faces and pulls at their clothes. But they seem oblivious to it, their hands held up above their heads, their eyes trance-like and staring. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain rip through me, clutching at my chest. The feeling is eerily familiar – one I will never forget from the night of Buffy's seventeenth birthday.

My first thought is to panic. Tara was right, I am going to lose my soul. I have to get as far away from here as possible before I lose control completely and Angelus takes over. I fight my way through the rushing air, pushing past a group of slack-jawed soldiers and out the door, my movements agonisingly slow. Staggering out into the cool night I can only manage a few more steps before collapsing completely on the ground. My whole body seems suffused with pain now and I know I only have moments left, just seconds before…

A bright flash of light emanates from the library, pulsing across my vision with blinding intensity_._ A bolt of electricity like a lightning strike hits me and I emit a loud howl of pain, just as I feel a jolt in my chest and my heart starts beating.I gasp for breath, choking on the oxygen filling my long disused lungs. My limbs ache as blood rushes back into them, replenishing my live, working cells. My God, I'm alive! I'm human – my _shanshu_ – it actually happened!

Scrambling painfully to my feet – my now very mortal flesh beginning to show some of its wounds – I hurry back inside the building. Buffy. I have to find her. When this happened last time, on our forgotten day, it wasn't right. Now, though, it is. We've closed the Hellmouth and stopped the apocalypse and now I have my reward. I still think I have a long way to go before I can be fully redeemed, but this is a start, this is an incentive to carry on and not lose faith. There are other ways to do good in the world aside from killing demons and vampires. The long journey that is my life takes a new turn today and for once, at last, I can see an end to it. 

I can also see happiness ahead in my future – a possible chance for Buffy and I to be together. Thoughts of Riley briefly cross my mind, but I push them away. It's all details now, minor considerations in light of the bigger picture, which I can suddenly perceive with startling clarity. I love her. I love her so much and I can't walk away from her one single time more. I can't give her up ever again. This time I'm not going to fight against our relationship – I'm going to fight _for _it. 

Stumbling into the old library I desperately scan the room, trying to see her. I spot a group of dazed soldiers, their faces breaking out in grins as they realise we have won the battle. Willow and Tara sit collapsed in each other's arms, rocking one another tenderly as the emotional exertion of the magic they cast takes its toll. Xander and Wesley are helping up Anya and Cordelia respectively, checking to see if the girls are all right then exchanging happy hugs and kisses. My eyes travel on. _Where is she? Where is she?_

Then I catch a glimpse of platinum blonde hair – Spike – bent over a body on the floor. _Oh my God! NO! _Rushing over across the room I yell at him. "Get away from her!"

Spike backs away from the body and I am confused by the genuine distress in his eyes. I look down at Buffy – _my beloved Buffy_ – and all I see is blood. My stomach cramps and I think I am going to vomit. I want to turn away, but I can't. My eyes are locked on the sight of her t-shirt soaked through a deep red and her ashen face set in pain.

"Bloody Hell, mate!" Spike exclaims. "What happened to you?"

I ignore his question, instead kneeling down besides Buffy to inspect her wounds. Her breathing is ragged and her pulse is weak, but it's still there. Not for long though at the rate she is losing blood. My entire body fills with utter panic. _Have to do something. Have to save her life_.

"We need to get her to a hospital, now!" I shout at Spike, but he shakes his head.

"There's no time. She'll be dead before you can even get her in the ambulance. I can save her for you, though." He slips his face into its vampire features, just in case I failed to get his meaning in the first place. 

"Don't even touch her!" I growl at him, the sound much less threatening now that I am human.

"C'mon Angelus," Spike persists. "Don't be such a prick. Would you rather she died?"

I look down at Buffy's tiny form, her tanned skin, her hair golden as the sun. "_Buffy_ would rather she died," I reply with absolute certainty, reaching for a stake in my pocket and brandishing it at Spike. "Now, get away from her before I'm forced to break that promise I made."

"Fine, have it any way you like," he backs away from me, his hands held up in the air, palms facing outwards. "Just know that when she's dead it'll be _your_ fault."

I don't remember exactly what happened next – it's all too much of a blur, filed in my mind somewhere with all those snapshots of adrenaline fuelled battles, where instinct took over and rational thought ceased to exist. I think I picked Buffy up. I cradled her in my arms and ran out into the street. I stumbled out in front of a car making the vehicle come to a screeching halt and the driver leap out yelling. Then he saw Buffy and the blood that now drenched me as well as her – strong, powerful Slayer blood that meant nothing to me in my human form. There was no lust, no heady, overpowering scent, no demon screaming inside me, just genuine horror that Buffy was hurt and dying even as I watched, even as I breathed. With every strengthened beat of my heart hers was getting weaker.

I babbled something incoherent to the driver, words that I will never recall now, and the next thing I knew there was an ambulance. Paramedics pulled me away from her, stuck needles in her arms, pumped their hands over her chest, flashing blue lights blurred through my tears. Cordelia and Willow led me away and the next thing I knew I was sitting here in the hospital waiting room, my head between my knees, trying to remember how to prey. 

I look up and around at the people who have joined me here. Willow and Xander huddle together across the other side of the room, heads bowed, brows knotted in concern. Tara, Anya, Wesley and Cordelia stand in an uneasy group by the soda machine, looking caught in a dilemma between leaving and staying. But there is one person missing who should be here.

"Where's Riley?" I ask quietly. 

Willow looks up at me with a tear-streaked face. "We-we lost him in the fight. He, uh, fell into the Hellmouth."

"Oh," is all I can think to say in reply to this. I suppose I am a little sorry that Riley's dead, but at the moment his loss doesn't even register on my radar. All I can think of is Buffy and the possibility she might die too. Later I can fully process my reaction to the news – my pain over Buffy's grief, guilt over hatred of a man who did nothing to deserve it, secret jubilation that my competition for Buffy's affection has now been eliminated – but for now I just nod vaguely and return to my frantically worried haze. 

"Has anyone called Joyce?" The thought suddenly occurs to me. 

Wesley nods. "The hospital are trying to reach her."

"Good," I reply with difficulty. "She should be here."

"Angel," Cordelia speaks up hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

I wave away her concern with my hand. "I'm fine."

"But-but, your _shanshu_, it happened. You're human – that's got to be something pretty big to adjust to."

I turn to fix her with an intense stare. "At the moment it's really not something I would rather think about." 

Cordelia nods and backs away, an uneasy silence settling over the room. This state continues for a while longer. Five minutes pass. Ten. Half an hour, with the only activity being hushed whispers and the light shuffling of feet. Then a doctor comes into the room, his expression serious. I immediately rise to my feet expecting – _fearing_ – to hear the worst. _Please don't let her be dead. Please God…_

"Are any of you family?" The doctor asks.

We exchange uncertain looks, unsure of what to say in reply. We are none of us related to Buffy, but what difference does that make, it doesn't mean we love her any less. If her father – whom she has not seen for years – walks in this door now, should he be treated as more important to Buffy than any of the people in this room, just because he shares her blood? 

Eventually Xander speaks up. "We're all family."

The doctor glances over our little group suspiciously, registering our dishevelled appearances and assorted injuries. After a moment's indecision I think he decides he would rather not know about whatever it is we have been involved in and instead chooses to announce his news. 

"Ms Summers was brought in with a penetrating trauma to the chest. Her heart stopped briefly in the field, but we managed to restart it with a combination of aggressive drug therapy and cardiopulmonary massage. We performed emergency surgery to repair a tear to her aorta, which went without complications and she seems to be recovering well."

My brain takes a while to catch up with my ears and I have to replay the doctor's speech several times in my head before I can understand his meaning. _Recovering well._ "So, she's going to be okay?"

The doctor nods, allowing himself a small smile. "She should be fine. Of course there is a slight risk of damage associated with oxygen deprivation due to the cardiac arrest, but due to her age and fitness I don't think there should be a problem."

He continues throwing medical terms at me but I stop listening. All I can think of is that she's going to be okay. Buffy is going to live. I hadn't quite realised exactly how much I'd doubted that possibility until this exact moment when the relief hits me and every inch of tension seems to drain out of my body. I collapse back into my seat, almost on the verge of laughter. She's going to be fine and everything is okay. Finally this nightmare is ending. 

"Can we see her?" I interrupt. 

The doctor frowns. "Perhaps it would be pertinent to wait until you've heard all the news before going to see Ms Summers."

"Why what else is there?" Willow asks in a shaky voice. "Is there something you haven't told us?"

The doctor pauses and for one agonising moment I am sure my world is going to come crashing down around my ears once more. "I'm afraid to have to tell you that she's lost the baby."

My mouth goes dry and I can almost physically feel the blood draining out of my face. "What?"

"Unfortunately, miscarriages in the first trimester are commoner than you'd think. And with this level of trauma – "

"She was pregnant?" I ask in a voice barely above a whisper. 

The doctor nods. "Yes, six weeks along we think. Didn't you know?"

He calls his question after me even as I am striding out of the waiting room door. Buffy was pregnant with Riley's child. Suddenly, her entire motivation for her engagement with Riley becomes clear. They were having a baby together, they were going to get married, be a proper family. And now both he and the baby are dead. The news is going to devastate Buffy and I was arrogant enough to think that she'd just forget about him and jump into my arms now that I'm human, that I could make everything better for her. Well, I can't. I don't belong with Buffy and I never have – human or not – and I was a fool to ever believe that I did. 

**Buffy:**

** **

Everything hurts. My chest aches and my head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton wool. But it's a good feeling, because it shows I'm still alive. And if I'm alive then so is the rest of the world. We did it; we stopped the apocalypse. We sealed off the Hellmouth, but it wasn't without its price.

Riley is dead. Really, finally gone. It's difficult to believe that I will never see him again. The whole of my life – however long that may be – Riley will never just walk into a room or pick up the phone and call me. It's an overwhelming concept and one I can't really bring myself to understand. In my years as the Slayer I've seen so much death, but I've also seen what it's like beyond death. I died myself and yet I came back. I thought I killed Angel, but he returned from Hell too. I'm always seeing corpses rise again as vampires, so I'm not sure I can accept Riley's death yet. I just keep thinking, give it another day, another week, another month and he'll be back telling me it was all a horrible mistake, looking up at me with hopeful eyes and a goofy grin.

But he won't. He won't be coming back from this and I'm not sure how I feel about that yet. It's awful that he's dead, that he might be suffering somewhere – I never wanted for that to happen. But I don't know if I'm grieving yet, if I've sunk into the despair that should come with the loss of the man I love. But then perhaps there's another reason for that, one I'm not prepared to face at moment. For now I just feel empty and there's another reason for _that_ too. 

The baby's gone. Nobody has been in to tell me but I know anyway. It's like how I knew I was pregnant in the first place. That presence which sat in the base of my stomach, like a lead weight, has suddenly vanished leaving in its place a lightness born mostly of relief. I know it's bad to feel this way, but I wasn't ready to be a mother. It wasn't meant to happen like this, so having a miscarriage is the best way the situation could have ended really. It makes me sad to add the life of my unborn child to the tally of those lost and I'll probably cry a little bit over it later. But I can't get too upset because I know that this is my second chance at life. 

I'm free from the old Buffy, the Slayer who resided over the Hellmouth, the one whose future seemed so inevitable just twelve hours ago. I could have so easily died in the battle – I was certainly injured severely enough – but I didn't. I lived and there has to be a reason for that. I survived so I could start over, be who I want to be, do the things I want to do. I'm finally liberated from my duty, from owed loyalties, from responsibilities I never asked for in the first place. It's going to take a little bit of getting used to, but at the moment it's an idea I think I could warm to. No more Hellmouth, no more apocalypse to avert, just Buffy Summers ordinary college girl. Sounds pretty good to me.

A familiar tingle shoots down my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck seem to stand on end. My heart quickens its beating and my pulse rate soars, the numbers on the monitor by the hospital bed climbing rapidly. My eyes shoot open and I twist around towards the doorway, wincing with the pain of the effort.

"Angel?" I call out in a small voice. 

The door swings open slowly and Angel walks into the room, a wry smile of his face, his shoulders slumped almost as if he is trying to make himself smaller somehow in order to fit into the tiny room. He comes and sits in a chair by my bed, his eyes sweeping over the various tubes and machines surrounding me.

"I just wanted to come and see if you were okay," he says. "Before I leave."

I try to not feel the bitter disappointment that wells up inside of me. "You're going?"

"Well, everything's done here, right?" He replies quietly. "You don't need me anymore."

"I-I guess…" I mumble in reply, turning my body away from his, so he can't see the tears in my eyes. What was I expecting him to do? To say? Just because a demon clawed me through the heart while I was saving the world doesn't mean anything's changed between Angel and I. And just because I've gotten used to having him around again, because I've reawakened the part of my heart that will always belong to him, doesn't mean he's going to stay forever. He was always going to go back to LA and I was always going to resume my life in Sunnydale. He has demons to conquer, battles to fight and wars to win that I am even less a part of now than I ever was. I'm just going to have to accept that no matter how right Angel and I feel together, we're just another of a long list of things in my life that aren't meant to be. 

"I'm sorry," Angel says. "About Riley and…everything else…"

I shake my head, reaching out to clasp his hand tightly. "I'm sorry too, Angel, really, truly I am."

He leans over me, lowering his lips to my forehead in a soft kiss. "I love you, Buffy Summers," he whispers barely loud enough for me to hear. I force a tearful smile as he pulls away again, moving to leave the room, his hand entwined with mine until the last possible second. 

The door bangs shut behind him and the tears come properly now. I can't explain why Angel just leaving for another city two hours away breaks my heart a thousand times over, whereas Riley's death hardly scratches it. And at this precise moment I don't even want to force myself to think about it. I just want to savour the lingering feeling of Angel's hot skin against mine, his moist lips pressed against my forehead, his breath grazing my cheek.

My heart skips a beat as my tired, confused brain catches up with the world around me. _Angel's breath._ Did I just feel him breathing, his skin warm and his face flushed? Did I hear the sound of his heart beat as he leant close to me, or was it just my imagination? 

Either way I have to know. I have to be sure. I pull myself painfully out of bed, ignoring the dizziness that hits me almost immediately. Ripping the IV lines hastily out of my arm and the monitor leads off my chest, I stumble out of the door into the hallway. There I see Angel's rapidly retreating form, his black leather duster swirling out behind him like it always did.

"Angel!" I yell as I stagger after him, my voice coming out as more of a strangled croak. 

He turns around almost immediately, a look of surprised concern on his face. Like a woman possessed I continue towards him, pushing my body through the agony of every step because I know that each will bring me closer towards him.

"Buffy?" He calls out anxiously, hurrying to my side and arriving there just in time to catch me as my effort becomes too much to maintain and my knees buckle underneath me. He holds me steady in his strong arms and I place my hand flat on his chest. Sure enough, a steady throb reverberates there and I gaze up at him in absolute wonder. 

"Angel, you're…you're human…" My face breaks out into a huge smile. "You're alive!"

He pulls me tightly into his embrace, burying his face in my hair. "I know," he replies, his tears dampening my neck. "I know."

End of Part Seventeen 

_ _

_To be continued…just one more to go now!!_


	18. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE 

**Joyce:**

** **

The day is perfect – the sky a deep azure, unbroken by cloud, the sun's light sparkling in its reflection off the surface of the sea. Tiny waves break their white crests against the sand and a fresh wind blows, gently ruffling Buffy's hair. She looks so beautiful. I've never realised quite how beautiful until today, until every inch of her seems to shine with happiness and her face is set in a perpetual smile. But then she's been like that a lot recently. And the difference is phenomenal. 

I always thought my daughter was pretty happy with her life. She laughed and she joked and she faced everything with good humour, but now it startles me to realise how much of that was an act on her behalf. She'll tell me with a wistful look in her eye about the times when she thought she couldn't cope anymore, didn't want to cope with all the things thrown at her. When she just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, wanted to be held tightly and have somebody else sort out the world's problems instead. But then she'll laugh away her former distress and her eyes will dance instead. She'll squeeze my hand tightly and say that she never knew how much she'd lost until she got it back, and I'll know exactly what she means.

I never knew how lonely Buffy was until she found the love she always wanted. And now to hear her speak about it, to listen to her voice those feelings in front of all her friends and family, makes me certain that she will never be lonely again. 

"Since I was fifteen," Buffy says strongly and clearly, showing no signs of uncertainty. "I've been a warrior. I learnt to fight, but I learnt there are some things you can't fight either. Like destiny. Like love."

She reaches out to take Angel's hand, squeezing it tightly as the couple share a private smile. Mr Giles standing beside me removes his glasses, taking out a handkerchief to polish them with, an obvious mask to cover up the emotion of the moment.

I tap him lightly on the arm, talking in a whisper so as not to disturb the gentle peace hanging over the ceremony. "Are you as proud of her as I am?"

He returns his glasses to his face, looking mistily over at Buffy stood by the water's edge, the long, white silk dress swirling gracefully about her ankles, her hair hanging loose over her shoulders. "Quite possibly even more so," he answers in a murmur. 

"I realised that when you love someone – truly, deeply love them with every inch of your soul – then there's nothing you can do to change that," Buffy continues. "You just have to trust in those feelings, let them carry you through the tough times and have faith that there is a happy ending in sight. We've hurt and we've doubted and we've been through Hell – "

"Some of us literally," Angel interrupts with a wry grin, eliciting a small chuckle from the gathered group, including Buffy. From the whole truth she finally told me about her and Angel's past history, I know how painful a simple reference to that incident would have been to both of them, up until only a few months ago. But now they can make jokes about it, a testament to exactly how many old wounds they have healed since their reunion. 

"But," Buffy's voice cracks a little now, tears of joy shining in her eyes. "I wouldn't change a single second of it, because it all brought me to this moment now. And I can honestly say, I've never been happier in my entire life. I love you, Angel," she locks her gaze with his, oblivious to everything else around her. "And I would be honoured to become your wife."

She holds out her hand to him, for Angel to slip the ring onto its fourth finger. He does so and brings her hand up to his lips, kissing the thin band of gold reverently. Then he takes his turn to speak.

"I've never been very good at expressing my emotions, as some of you here know better than others," he smiles briefly out into the crowd. "But that doesn't mean I've ever been any less sure of them. I've loved you ever since I first saw you," he turns back to Buffy. "And every day I think it impossible to love you any more than I already do, and every day I am proved wrong. You've given me so much – hope, happiness, sunlight, life – when I deserved none of it."

Buffy shakes her head adamantly at this, but says nothing.

"And I wanted to thank you for that today," Angel carries on. "For your love, for your trust, for your forgiveness and for your loyalty. My heart has been yours from the very beginning, but I pledge it to you once more – for now and always. I would be honoured to become your husband."

Buffy slides a matching ring on to his finger, bending also to kiss it. They separate and Willow, who is performing the Wiccan ceremony for them, reaches over to bring their hands together, covering their entwined fingers with her palms.

"I now bless the union of your souls for eternity," she announces with a smile. Leaning over to kiss both Buffy and Angel briefly on the cheek, she then removes her hands and steps away.

"Blessed be," she calls out and the phrase is echoed by the congregation. 

"And now, uh," she giggles slightly, giving away a little of her nervousness. "You may kiss the bride."

Angel complies, cupping Buffy's face in his hands and lightly brushing her lips with his. She draws closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and making the kiss more passionate to the tune of loud applause and wolf whistles from the wedding guests.

I surprise myself by cheering along as loudly as the rest of them. It's strange, I never thought I would come to approve of Buffy's relationship with Angel, but now I can't imagine her being made happy by anyone else. It did take a lot of getting used to, however. A lot of arguments and tears until I could finally learn to see as much good in Angel as my daughter does. 

I remember when it first became clear they were a couple again. I'd had a phone call from the hospital telling me that Buffy was severely injured. I rushed in to see her, desperate to comfort my little girl, only to find Angel sitting in the hospital room with her, holding her hand. Worried and upset I yelled at him to leave, to go far away from Buffy before he hurt her anymore. But Buffy just looked up determinedly and said in a soft, calm voice. "He's staying, Mom – he's staying forever this time."

Later, when she was better and discharged from the hospital, she explained how Angel had turned human in the battle they fought to close the Hellmouth. She told me that now she wouldn't be needed as much as the Slayer. There were a few more vampires left and a couple of demons to fight, but essentially Sunnydale was now just any other town and she was just any other girl. She and Angel were both released from their duties and they intended to make the most of the time they were given together. She loved him, she always had loved him and she would never stop. 

Of course, I didn't accept it at the time. I told her she was a fool to trust this man – human or not – who had hurt her so many times before. I ordered her not to see him, said I would not have her together with him under my roof. So, she left. They moved out together and with typical Buffy stubbornness, she refused to see me. Then something horrible happened. My illness got worse. I collapsed – something about a blood clot on the brain – and had to be rushed into hospital for emergency surgery. Buffy hurried to my side, all tears and regrets for the conflict between us. It was a difficult time, but we got through it – mostly thanks to Angel.

He seemed to hold everything together for us. He spoke to the doctors about my treatment schedules and medications, he looked after Buffy and Dawn, made sure they ate properly and stayed in school. And he comforted them when things were at their hardest. I remember one evening when the side effects from chemotherapy drugs I was taking kept me awake at night, I walked into the lounge and they were all there – Dawn, Buffy and Angel, curled up together in a heap on the sofa, Angel with an arm around each of my girls, just reading to them. After his voice lulled them into sleep, we talked properly for perhaps the first time ever.

He spoke to me about the past, history that he'd lived and I'd only read about in books. We discussed art, a subject he is surprisingly (or perhaps not so surprisingly) well informed about. I didn't take me long to be fascinated by the tales he told – of meeting the Grand Masters, of attending balls in Paris and concerts in Rome, of the expensive hotels and the high society. But the more stories I heard, the more details I noticed were missed out and the more pain I sensed in his remembering them. I turned the conversation to Buffy and his face lit up immediately, conveying more than a stream of earnest words ever could.

At the sound of her name, my daughter stirred. Awakened from her dozing, her eyelashes fluttered slightly yet she refused to change position, staying snuggled up against Angel's side, only the altered rhythm of her breathing to give away her consciousness. Realising her intention to overhear our conversation, Angel got a wicked glint in his eye. Teasingly he proceeded to berate Buffy mercilessly, citing everything from her secret soap opera addiction to her utterly hopeless cookery skills, until she was rendered angry enough to abandon her charade of sleep and leap up to yell at him. To her absolute surprise he just laughed down her ire, his broad smile and low chuckle soon becoming infectious as Buffy caught on to the joke.

"You knew I was listening, didn't you?" She accused, hitting him lightly on the shoulder.

He nodded sheepishly. "Sorry, I just couldn't resist the opportunity."

At this interruption, Dawn also woke up, glancing around drowsily. "What happened?"

Angel ruffled her hair. "You fell asleep, honey."

Dawn yawned and snuggled back down into his side. "Read another story will you, Angel?"

He obliged willingly, picking up the fallen book again and allowing his soft voice to carry us past the early hours of the morning and into the next day. After that night, I never criticised Buffy for her choice again and as I continued to recover from my illness Angel became more and more a part of our family. So, it's only fitting that today he and Buffy have made their relationship as official as it can be. 

"Okay, guys!" Xander Harris calls out to Buffy and Angel, who still haven't got past the kissing part of the ceremony yet. "Please don't make me throw water over you two."

Buffy pulls away from Angel, her smile easily belying her angry demeanour. "You dare and I'll break your neck. I'm still the Slayer you know."

"And I may be human now," Angel adds. "But I think I can still remember a few moves."

Xander backs away from the pair. "Whoa, truce. You better fire up the barbeque, Wes, before I lose a limb to happy couple here."

Wesley heads over to rusted old contraption Giles managed to dig out of his back yard. Buffy insisted on making the event as informal as possible, hence the ceremony and ensuing party conducted on the beach. Somebody else turns on a stereo, blasting upbeat music out loudly. 

"Hey, she hasn't thrown the bouquet yet!" Cordelia protests, insisting upon forcing Buffy to toss her bunch of perfect pale pink rose buds over her shoulder and into the crowd of gathered females. Anya leaps up and grabs them straight out of the path of Cordelia's grasping hands, drawing a cry of irritation from the other girl. 

"I caught the flowers!" Xander's odd girlfriend announces triumphantly. "According to your strange human traditions this means I'm the next to be married, correct?"

Xander turns a strange shade of white and mutters something incoherent, hurrying off to help Wesley with the cooking, donning an apron bought especially for the purpose proclaiming 'Real Men BBQ'. 

"Would you, er, like to dance at all?" Giles enquires politely of me as the rest of the group begin to move in time to the music. 

I smile gratefully at his offer. "Thank you, no. I think I'd rather sit this one out."

"Very well," Giles replies gracefully, until Willow grabs his hand. 

"You can dance with us, Giles," she proclaims enthusiastically, dragging him over to form a little group with her, Tara and Dawn.

Laughing softly to myself at Giles' attempts to dance, I walk slowly over to where Buffy and Angel are quietly surveying the celebrations.

"Discussing anything interesting? Or shouldn't I ask?" I say, raising my eyebrows ever so slightly.

"Mom!" Buffy colours and turns away. I allow myself to be inwardly amused – my daughter may be a grown up, married woman now, but at least I still have the ability to embarrass her; that's never going to change. 

"We were just saying how much things have altered in such a short time," Angel clarifies.

I nod in agreement. "How long has it been now? Nine months?"

"Ten months, six days and thirteen hours," Buffy corrects me automatically. 

"So, you think about it a lot then?" I ask jokingly.

Buffy smiles ruefully. "Mostly, I wonder whether I could have changed anything."

Angel lays a hand on her arm. "Buffy – we've talked about this – there was nothing else you could have done."

She nods. "I know. I just can't help thinking that it wasn't fair, Gunn and Riley shouldn't have died like that."

"You can't save everybody," Angel says softly to Buffy, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Speaking of which," Wesley approaches, joining our conversation. "Does anybody know what happened to Spike?"

There are head shakes all around. "There was a rumour he went back to England," Angel finally answers. "Something about an upset with Dru and Darla. I'm sure we haven't heard the last of him, though."

"No," Buffy replies grimly. "We're not that lucky."

There is an awkward silence, which I attempt to alleviate with a subject change. "Well, what are you two going to do now that you're married?"

Angel exchanges a look with Buffy, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her forehead. When he looks back up at me to give his answer he is smiling.

"Live."

THE END 

_A/N ~ _Wow, it's finally finished! I hope everybody enjoyed reading. Thanks to all my reviewers for the great feedback and encouragement, especially to those who reviewed after every update – it really helped with my motivation! Also thank you to Molly, without whose nagging for me to write fluff you would not have ended up with a happy ending. 

_A/N 2 ~ _Now listen carefully in the silence of the darkest part of the night and you may still be able to hear Riley's agonised screams echoing off the walls of Hell… Mwhahahahahaha!!


End file.
